


Forging Futures

by DJSparkles



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Character Development, Durincest, Dwori - Freeform, Friendship, M/M, Nofur - Freeform, Romance, Sex, Slash, Will add more as needed - Freeform, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 37,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJSparkles/pseuds/DJSparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur has a thing for bad boys, and Nori is about as bad as they come.  Add in a quest and lots of time alone on the road and things are bound to explode.  Contains smut and LOTS of character development.  Background (at first) Bagginshield and Dwori.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lomelindi (PirateColey)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateColey/gifts), [shinyadoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyadoll/gifts).



> Many, many thanks to Lomelindi and Shinyadoll for encouraging me to write this! 
> 
> This started as a simple PWP and then Nori hit me over the head and demanded a bit more. This is the result.
> 
> Special thanks to Lomelindi for the title. Love ya darlin!

Bofur waited until everything was quiet. Snores came from all directions and he slowly, silently, crept away from the outskirts of the camp toward the stream they'd found. There were plenty of trees along the shore to sit next to – or behind, depending on what you had in mind, really – to keep yourself from being seen.

It wasn't that he was hiding, really. He just wanted a bit of bloody privacy for the first time in two weeks. Two long, boring, sociable, FRUSTRATING weeks. Not one minute to himself, even worse than when it was just him, Bifur, and Bombur. Now he had ten other Dwarves and a Hobbit besides to contend with when all he wanted, really, was a chance to relieve some of his frustration.

It didn't help that every time he turned around, Nori was there. Nori, with his odd hairstyle, his pretty, pretty auburn hair that just screamed “run your fingers through this”, his deep eyes that smoldered with something frightening every time he caught Bofur looking at him. 

Yes, he was in a state. First, he didn't know if the thief would be interested in an affair, since no one really knew anything about him but his brothers and they weren't talking. Second, that danger drew him. Strange, in a company of very dangerous folks, that one among them should stand out in Bofur's eyes as more so than the rest. 

Thorin was imposing and radiated strength. Dwalin – he was big and burly and had such a reputation as a warrior that he should seem more dangerous than any of the others, and yet his strength was always tempered. Balin was older, but still capable. Bifur and Bombur of course he knew were dangerous lads, when they needed to be. Dori was the strongest, and Ori the meekest. Still dangerous, look at how he'd hit that Warg with a rock from the sling! A bigger stone would have blinded it. Gloin was a maniac with his axe, Oin, well... there was controlled power under the age, Bofur could feel it. The lads? Fíli and Kíli were young, but they were fierce. 

And then there was Nori.

Nori simply radiated danger. There was a feel to him, a glint in those hazel eyes that spoke of things best left in the darkness, theft and guile and deceit and all of those things conspired to make Bofur want him. He wanted Nori so much it hurt. He'd always had a thing for bad boys, he supposed, but this level of need was something he'd never expected to come across and it was driving him insane. 

So, he'd settled for a bit of solitary comfort when he could find it, always thinking of the thief, wondering what it would be like to thread his hands in Nori's hair, to feel his body close, to hear him making soft (and maybe not so soft) sounds of pleasure in the night. But for the last two weeks, it seemed everything had conspired together to keep him from having ANY privacy at all, and that was simply not on. He needed relief and he was going to find some.

He settled to the ground by the stream and after a quick look to be certain he was alone, and a longer listen to make sure nothing else was lurking, he flipped open a small vial of oil and coated his fingers with it before taking himself in hand, stroking slowly, his eyes slipping closed as he thought of his thief. A soft moan left him at the thought of what Nori's hands might feel like on him.

A hand came around to hold his mouth silent and the other dipped down to touch him as a weight settled at his back and he struggled for a moment until he heard the hiss in his ear. “Not a sound, Bofur, you don't want the others waking, do you? I didn't think so.”

Nori.

Bofur wanted to crawl into the ground in shame. To have been caught in such a compromising position – wait. Nori's hand was on him. Stroking him. 

He nodded slowly and Nori removed the hand from his mouth but took it no further than wrapping one of Bofur's braids around it. “Not a sound, not one, understand?” Nori's voice in his ear was soft but full of steel. The pull on his braid wasn't gentle, either, and he nodded again. “Good.”

He wanted to moan, he wanted to sigh, he wanted – he wasn't sure what he wanted, beyond Nori's hand never stopping that strong/gentle caress of his flesh. He couldn't find anything to do with his hands and when he tried to raise them to touch Nori, he was told in no uncertain terms that it wouldn't be happening and to stay still. A nip to his earlobe convinced him, the slight pain sending a jolt through him and wringing a groan from him. He bit his lip when Nori growled, reminding him to stay silent, and wondered dizzily if he'd be able to. It felt so good, having his thief at his back, holding him by the hair and he didn't know how he'd ever thought his own hand was good enough. The things Nori was doing to him, with just a simple touch, one hand, had him breathless from the pleasure already spiking through him and now the thief was murmuring things in his ear.

Bofur colored and felt his excitement climb, if possible, even higher. Those words, the things Nori spoke, struck sparks along his nerves. What the thief wanted to do to him, described in detail, the crude words bringing sharp, clear images to his mind and it was enough to send him over. His hands scrabbled at the ground, mindful of Nori's requests even as lost in it as he was. The feel of his thief at his back steadied him as he gulped in great breaths of air, coming down from the peak and simply trying to remember how to breathe.

Nori held him for a moment longer before tucking him back into his breeches and moving away. Bofur nearly cried out at the loss of contact as he fell back and Nori knelt now where Bofur could see him clearly but just out of reach. “You should sleep good tonight, toymaker,” he said softly with a wicked grin. And then he was gone in the direction of their camp.

Bofur sat up slowly, shaking his head a little. He'd think he had dreamed the whole thing except for the damp on his belly and the sting in his ear where Nori had nipped at him. One hand went up to rub at it and he stiffened. His earring was missing.

Suddenly he chuckled. Trust his thief to take something in return for what he clearly considered services rendered. He'd just have to find a way to earn it back.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lomelindi and Shinyadoll, who gave me the courage to start this, and the encouragement (translation = butt kicking *LOL*) to keep going!
> 
> For Lomelindi especially for all the help with the title and a few other things you'll find out about later...
> 
> Here's hoping y'all continue to enjoy this!

Unfortunately, the next time Bofur thought he'd have a moment to himself, they ran into three nasty trolls who wanted to eat their ponies. And then them. Whole. Or roasted, it didn't matter. 

And of course, he'd ended up trussed to the spit to be roasted. With Nori. Between his legs. 

Life was cruel. He was exactly where he wanted to be but the situation was hardly right for what he wanted. Like, “we're going to die but at least I'll die happy” wrong.

But the Hobbit surprised them all by keeping the trolls occupied until nearly sunup, when Gandalf showed up and the trolls turned to stone in the sun. And when they were free, he looked around for Nori and caught his eye, but the thief looked right through him. Not a good start for what he wanted to happen next, certainly. He felt hurt, really; he'd thought that after the night by the stream at least he had the right to talk to the thief. Obviously Nori thought differently.

And he hadn't found any way at all to broach the subject of his earring.

The trolls' hoard helped a little. He, Gloin, and Nori gathered a LOT of gold into a chest and buried it in the floor. So Nori wasn't avoiding him as such, but there was certainly something going on there. The thief, HIS thief, hadn't said one word to him. Hadn't so much as given him one smile, which was unusual. 

He stifled a groan and followed everyone out when Thorin called. 

The brown wizard, discussions of Necromancers and places Bofur had never heard of, and running for their lives from yet more Wargs and Orcs just put more emphasis on the fact that there was no way he was going to get Nori alone anytime soon. Then they were running through some sort of passageway and ended up in Rivendell, of all places.

The Last Homely House East of the Sea, Gandalf had called it. All Bofur cared about was that it was a place the Orcs couldn't get them, right now. They needed rest, even he could see it. At least he did. Rest and maybe a chance to get Nori alone. 

He really needed to talk to his thief and not just about the earring.

Finally, after several hours of torture (it wasn't, really, just Elf music and their idea of food), the Dwarves were able to find a place to themselves to eat what they wanted and have some companionship. Bofur lit up his pipe and then looked across to Bombur, assessing possibilities. It had become quite a game, to see how far away someone could sit and still have Bombur catch whatever food was thrown his way. “Bombur!” Bofur called to his brother. 

The sausage was duly caught and with a creak, the table Bombur had sat upon broke, sending him to roll about on the ground. Nori was nearby and had a good laugh, pointing and chortling with the others. Bofur rolled over onto his side, laughing hard.

Bofur watched Nori under his brows so the thief wouldn't catch him looking, waiting for him to slip away. He knew Nori would; he seemed uncomfortable in their company if he had to be there very long. It had to be hard for him, really, having been on the outskirts of society as he had been for so long. After all, being a thief was hardly a respectable profession.

Much like being a miner. Bofur had always known he was lower class than the others, and he didn't really care. He took pride in his work, even when the mining played out and he was forced into toymaking with Bifur. And it wasn't such a bad thing, really, it gave him something to do with his hands when he really didn't know what else to do with the rest of him. It let his mind wander when he needed it to.

There. Nori had disappeared. There weren't many places he could have slipped out of, so Bofur had a halfway decent chance of intercepting him. He rose and slunk out the nearest exit himself, pacing round the hall down to the exit into the outside and saw Nori standing outside, his hands clenched at his sides, completely at odds with his jolly appearance earlier. What had happened?

“Nori? Ye all right, lad?” The words were out before Bofur had known he was going to speak, but that was a good thing. If he'd thought about it he might not have spoken at all. He moved closer but stayed just out of reach. He didn't want his thief feeling pressured.

“I'm fine.” But the tone was clipped and angry and Bofur smiled slightly. 

“Aye, sure ye are.” He took one step closer and stopped when Nori glared at him. “That's why yer fists are clenched, aye? Fine and dandy.” He didn't move further, just watched his thief for a moment. “I just want t'help, Nori.”

“You can't.” Nori's voice was soft, now, but still nearly vibrated with anger and something else Bofur decided was pain. A tiny, pained smile touched his lips. “You're not related to Dori. I'll be all right.”

Bofur nodded. “Don't have an older brother m'self, no,” he replied evenly as he stepped close enough to take Nori's hands in his. He was wearing his heart on his sleeve and he knew it, but the other needed comfort and if that was all he could offer, he would. “What'd he say, then? Had to be pretty rough to put ye in this state.”

Nori deliberately took his hands back and stepped away, going to lean over the balustrade instead, no longer looking directly at Bofur. “Nothing I haven't heard a thousand times already. It's nothing.”

Bofur moved up beside him, saying nothing. He merely leaned over, his shoulder touching the other's, offering silent support. They stood together for a while.

Nori wanted to move away but couldn't. It bothered him that the miner obviously cared about how he felt. He didn't want entanglements of any kind. If he was focused on someone other than his mark, he'd make mistakes. And a thief who made mistakes was soon out of business, one way or another.

Bofur reached up and turned his thief's face toward him, searching Nori's eyes for some sign whether or not the advance would be accepted. 

“Not here,” Nori said quickly as he jerked his head back. To make up for what seemed a rejection, he grabbed the miner's hand and dragged him out into the valley. He found a secluded spot, lots of trees to shield them from curious Elf eyes and dragged Bofur to the ground with him. 

“If we're going to get involved, there's going to be some rules,” he growled as he held Bofur's gaze. “I'm not going to tell you I love you or anything, because I don't. It's convenient, that's all. I won't kiss you. And no one else knows about our arrangement. Anyone else finds out, it's over. You agree to all that?”

Bofur didn't take time to think about it. “Aye,” he said softly. Any chance at all with his thief was more than he'd hoped for. And there was always the chance that Nori would change his mind later, that he would come to care for the miner the way he wanted. Even if he didn't, though, Bofur would have something of him to remember. “I can accept that.”

Nori nodded and started skimming out of his clothes and Bofur stopped him. “Let me,” he whispered. He might not be able to kiss Nori but there were other ways he could show his appreciation. 

Slowly he rid the other Dwarf of his coverings, lightly nibbling and licking his way across each expanse of skin he uncovered. His hands were gentle, lightly skimming over Nori's skin, barely touching and Bofur counted it a victory when Nori shivered slightly just as Bofur closed his hand around him, barely grazing along the shaft.

Nori fought down his reactions. Bofur's hands were different than he had expected, calloused and rough, sure, but also gentle and tender and it was a new experience for him. He was used to things quick and rough. Still, a soft sound made its way out of his throat before he could stop it and then he bit his lower lip in an attempt to stay silent when Bofur took him into his mouth.

Bofur smiled around him and began to work him in earnest, varying tempo and running his tongue along the shaft, dipping it into the slit at the head on the upstroke and swallowing deeply when he had the whole length inside. Nori's barely stifled cries spurred him on. He had dreamed about those noises, and they had him achingly hard as well. He didn't care. He wanted to make it explosive for his thief.

Nori's hands were suddenly in his hair, tugging him upward away from that deliciousness. “Strip,” he demanded, his voice hoarse. “Naked. Now.”

Bofur grinned. Even his hat went to the side, lovingly placed atop the untidy pile of the rest of his things. Nori seemed to like his hair, if those tugs and pulls were any indication, so he'd go without it for this. He was certain he knew what Nori wanted and brought out the oil. 

Nori almost laughed and then was a little awestruck. Only for a moment, but it threw him just the same. Bofur carried oil with him, and he had been obviously wanting this for a long time. He wound his fingers into the miner's hair again, dragging him upward to nibble and suck on the skin of his neck while those same fingers swiped the oil and opened it. He flipped them so Bofur was underneath and slicked up his fingers before using one hand to grip Bofur's length and slipping the other downward to tease and touch at his entrance.

Bofur wiggled and writhed at Nori's touch. Hot, he was so hot, and he wanted more. He was mindful of their last encounter, however, and tried to keep his hands away and his mouth silent. But it was progressively harder to do when Nori was using those talented fingers to stretch him, widen him, and prepare him for what was to come. 

“I want to hear you, Bofur,” Nori growled as he nipped at the miner's collarbone hard enough to bruise. “No one can hear us. We're alone out here. Let me hear you.” 

Bofur moaned, a long, low sound that went straight to Nori's groin. “More,” he sighed as he squirmed. Unbidden, his hands came up and grasped Nori's shoulders, holding tightly as he arched upward, bucking against those fingers. “Nori!”

Nori didn't hesitate. He grasped Bofur's hips and pressed inside, slowly, teasing. Bofur was nearly mindless, moaning and squirming and gasping for more. “Touch yourself, Bofur,” he growled as he began to thrust. “I want to watch you.”

Bofur did as asked, stroking in time with Nori's thrusts, crying out and bucking against Nori's hands, spilling over as the pleasure spiked. He moaned again as he felt Nori stiffen. “Nori!” he growled as his hands flew back up, grasping his thief's back and holding tightly. 

Nori thrust a few more times before seating himself deeply and uttering a wordless snarl as he came hard. He slumped then before rolling quickly to the side. That had been, without a doubt, the strangest, most intense encounter he'd had in a long time. If ever. And it scared him.

Bofur finally caught his breath and rolled to face Nori, a smile on his face. Said smile faded when he realized Nori was watching him not with happiness but with something akin to panic. Then it was gone so quickly he might have imagined it. He would say nothing of it, of course. He said nothing at all, leaving it to Nori to set the tone. 

“We'd best get back,” Nori said finally as he reached for his clothes. “Wouldn't want anyone to come looking for us.”

“Aye.” Bofur gathered his own things and quickly dressed, but when he turned, Nori was already gone. “Oh, now that went well,” he grumbled quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lomelindi. For reasons. :)
> 
> These two just don't get it... or do they?

Morning dawned bright and clear and Bofur groaned when the sun hit his face. Insane, he was insane for having drunk so much the night before. That Elven wine, weak as it seemed, wasn't to be trifled with. His head was a drum, his eyes wouldn't focus and it tasted like Smaug himself had used his mouth for a toilet. Never again would he touch that Elvish poison. Never.

He pulled his hat down over his face. The sun was entirely too bright. 

“Here, this'll help.” Once Bofur could process the words he realized it was Nori's voice. Something was pressed into his hand and he struggled up onto one elbow to regard the thief with some concern. “Go on, drink it then.”

Bofur shrugged, winced as the motion jostled his head, and tossed back the drink. It took everything he had not to fetch it back up, too. Once he'd caught his breath, he did admit to feeling slightly better; at least he didn't feel like death was imminent. Or quite so welcome. “What was in it?” he murmured. 

“You don't really want to know. Got it from Oin. It does help.” Nori rose and moved away and Bofur cradled his aching head in his hands for a moment before getting up himself. 

“Thanks.” Bofur went to the remains of last night's fire and rummaged through his pack, looking for his pipe. He could have sworn he'd put it – no, it wasn't there. 

Nori.

Bofur looked up at the thief, who cocked an eyebrow at him as if to say “Who, me?” and slouched away with a tiny smile of his own. Then he sighed heavily and rummaged a little more, finding his spare (at least Nori hadn't nicked that as well) and started to fill it.

Rational thought was slowly returning with the absence of the headache and he was able to realize several things at once. First, that though he'd thought it was the bare crack of dawn when he woke, he'd been quite mistaken. The room they'd chosen for their celebrating the night before faced the wrong direction for morning sun and yet it was streaming in, so it had to at least be afternoon. Late, by the position of the sun in the actual sky, which he could see from his spot near the windows. He'd slept most of the day away.

Two, that Nori was up to something.

It went without saying, really. Nori was ALWAYS up to something. But this time, it involved Bofur directly and he should really try to figure out what his thief intended. It certainly wasn't any form of courtship. He'd made it quite clear, Nori had, that Bofur was merely a convenient outlet for his lust and there was nothing more to it.

Clear as mud, Bofur thought idly as he smoked. He'd seen Nori's expression after their last encounter, and it had been pure panic. Something he had done scared the thief and he needed to figure this out. But try as he might, he could think of nothing. Nothing save some exceptionally good sex.

Could that possibly be the problem? Nori was so worldly and subtle, but he was also isolated due to his profession. Could it possibly be that he'd just never had more than a rough tumble in the night? It seemed likely; Bofur himself could remember the first time he'd felt real passion take hold of him. It had scared the very socks off of him.

If that was what ailed Nori, then more would help him to understand it wasn't something to fear. It was something to be treasured, enjoyed, sought out. And of course that would further Bofur's aims of keeping the thief in his bed as well. 

Passion was nothing to be afraid of, and yet it was utterly terrifying the first time Bofur experienced it. He'd been with a lover, of course, someone he cared for but didn't really love. Dwarves only love once and he hadn't found that one, not yet. But there was affection, and there was sex, and sometimes the two joined together and completely unhinged you. 

If Nori was feeling any sort of passion for the first time... it would explain the sheer panic. And passion stemmed from affection (or love but Bofur wasn't holding much hope for that), so at least that meant there was hope of more from his thief.

His pipe was empty. He sighed heavily, tapped the ashes into the ashes of last night's fire, and packed it again. Now that he had a good understanding of what Nori was feeling, he needed to do something about it. And that would take more thought – and more smoke.

*

Nori didn't understand why he had done it. The sex, of course, he was frustrated, he needed, and Bofur was handy. But the hangover remedy that he'd specifically asked Oin for, stealing the earring, the pipe... he wasn't sure.

Yes, he was. At least the earring. It was one of Bofur's more prized possessions and as such, a good target. And it would keep the miner guessing as to what would be stolen next. 

It was a game, really. The pipe, too. And anything else he was able to make off with during this little – well. It was an affair, he supposed. At the very least, it cured both their frustrations. 

But there was something else that was driving him crazy. He FELT something for the miner, something he hadn't intended. Whether it was simple friendship, affection, love, he didn't know. And he didn't really care. He didn't want to feel it, whatever it was.

No strings attached. That was his style, always had been. Emotions changed that dynamic. And emotions got in the way when you were trying to work a job.

So why did he have this overwhelming urge to not only fuck Bofur into mindlessness but to hold him after, to feel the sound of his heartbeat against Nori's own? Why did he want to stay close to the miner, to protect him, to cherish him?

He made a fist and slammed it down on the railing. He was alone, utterly alone, there weren't even any Elves in earshot and that was how he wanted it. So why was he thinking of Bofur instead of enjoying the solitude as he usually did?

He needed to stay away. 

And he couldn't. And it wasn't just the mind-numbing, toe-curling, absolute best sex ever. If it were just that, he'd stop in a heartbeat and go back to his own hand. It was something more, something different, something – something emotional.

He wanted Bofur to be spoiled for anyone else. He wanted the miner for himself, and that simply would. Not. Do. He needed to stay free and if he allowed himself to feel these things he wouldn't. 

But he couldn't stay away. 

He even wore the earring. Not as intended; no, it rested on a fine chain inside his tunic, where none would see but he could clearly feel it. It was a link to his miner, the only one he would truly allow.

He took another deep breath as his fingers closed around the earring. He could do this. He didn't have to have any feelings at all about it. It was good sex, nothing more. It was DAMN good sex, but nothing more. And in the meantime, he could keep his hand in by nicking a few more of Bofur's things. Yes, that was it. The more of the miner's stuff he had, the more likely he'd be to agree to join Nori for some fun. And sooner or later, Bofur would get it all back. It was just a game. Right?

Just a game.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lomelindi(PirateColey). Because reasons. Love ye m'darlin!

Bofur watched Nori from across the room, mesmerized by just the thought of Nori's lips around the stem of his pipe. Bofur's pipe. The one Nori was currently smoking from that he had nicked earlier from Bofur.

He watched the shift and play of those lips and fought down a groan of frustration. And of course Nori was well aware of what he was doing to the miner; it was obvious in the way he kept glancing Bofur's way and the way just the corners of his mouth would turn up the slightest bit when he caught Bofur staring.

Of course, Nori had chosen the wrong spot to sit in if he was going to tease Bofur. The miner's pack was behind him, and that was where Bofur's pipeweed was. So he had to get up, walk across the room, pass Nori with a clap on the shoulder along the way (and if his fingers happened to just slightly graze the other Dwarf's jaw on the way, well, it could be accidental, aye?), retrieve the pouch, go BACK past Nori with another light touch, and take his seat again. No, there was no teasing going on from Bofur's direction either.

And Ori watched it all with a hidden smile.

The scribe wasn't nearly as oblivious to the undercurrents in their company as everyone would like to think. Nor was he as naïve or inexperienced. It was just that Dori was so protective that he had to keep such things secret to avoid the tongue-lashing he knew he'd get for poor choices and since he'd learned to keep his own, he was able to see others' secrets more clearly.

He was also still young enough to be a hopeless romantic. And that also allowed him to see what was happening between Nori and Bofur and to decide that he'd help it along, if he could. Oh, not obviously; both the older Dwarves would run for the hills if he suddenly announced he knew they'd been sleeping together and wanted to help them keep doing so. But he thought he might be able to provide a little subtle assistance, just the same. Even if it was just keeping Dori occupied sometimes so he'd leave Nori alone.

To be fair, Dori didn't fuss nearly as much over Nori as he did Ori. Ori was the youngest, and Dori felt responsible. But if Ori were to keep Dori's attention fixed on him, well, Nori might be a bit less grumpy. 

He looked over to Bofur again and sighed. Those two needed to be together, he could see it. The looks that passed between them when they thought the other wasn't looking, the sheer heat of it, and there was something else, too. And Bofur, Mahal, Bofur was wearing his heart on his sleeve for anyone to notice. Or at least, someone observant like Ori.

His parchment and pen were in hand, chronicling their day's activities here at Rivendell, though truth to tell there was little to record. So, since he was in a shadowy corner, somewhat hidden from view, he turned from writing to sketching. 

Nori's face came first, familiar, and yet subtly different. There was something about the eyes that hinted at mischief, like normal, but something else lurked underneath. Something warm and tender and Ori knew that if he realized it, Nori would close it off in a heartbeat. He didn't want emotional attachments to anyone, really. He tolerated the ones with his brothers because well, they were his brothers and you're supposed to love your family. But Nori trusted few others, and the warmth in his eyes when he looked at Bofur, that was something he'd fight tooth and nail. 

The pipe at his lips was intricately carved and suddenly Ori understood part of the mischief showing in his brother's face. It wasn't Nori's pipe at all. The decoration was lovingly, exquisitely rendered and Ori knew Bofur had carved it. Nori must have stolen it at some point, and was teasing Bofur with it. And that in itself said something quite unusual was going on; Nori didn't noise things about when he stole. Quite the contrary.

Bofur's earring had gone missing a couple of days previous and now Ori thought he knew where it was. Or at least who had it. But why the elaborate tease? Probably, Ori decided suddenly, that Nori was making up the rules as he went along again, and breaking them as fast as they were set. He wished his brother would just stop hiding from everything and everyone and let himself be happy. He didn't HAVE to be a thief any more. He didn't HAVE to steal so they'd have enough to eat. 

Ori put a halt to that thought quickly. Nori enjoyed being a thief. It was the excitement as much as anything that held him in that life, the thrill of the heist and then the exhilaration of the chase when he'd waited too long and almost been caught.

If Bofur really wanted to have Nori, and more than just as a bed partner, he'd have to chase him. 

Ori's eyes went to the miner, sitting apparently content and sharing off color jokes and smoke with Fíli and Kíli. That was a dangerous combination, too. The three of them were pranksters in the extreme; just that morning the lads had tried once more to take the piss from Bilbo, explaining to him that his beloved Elves weren't to be trusted, they were worse than Orcs, really, and all sorts of odd, vile things that anyone with sense knew not to be true. It had all come out all right, of course. Bilbo had sense. And it hadn't helped their cause that he remembered the night they'd explained about Orc packs, throat cutters, and tried to scare him even then. Thorin had stopped it then, and Bilbo himself that morning.

Sighing, he drew his thoughts back, regarding the image of Nori he'd sketched out, and let his quill scratch a bit more on the paper. Bofur's face began to take shape as well, strong and rugged and with that indefinable something that made him what Nori wanted. His eyes were merry, his face content, and yet under the surface there lurked a sadness, a hint that not all was as it seemed. And yet when he looked at Nori, his face became even brighter, happier. And no one else had seen it or cared.

Really, anyone who wanted to know what Bofur was feeling only had to look at him. The miner's face was an open book, his eyes expressive and usually crinkled around the edges with laughter. And just now they were watching Nori with speculation – and not a little raw emotion.

He should have been paying attention to Dori. His brother had come up beside him to sit and was regarding the sketches with admiration. “Those are quite good,” he said evenly as he offered a cup of tea. Ori would much rather have had ale but he wouldn't hurt Dori's feelings, either.

“Thank you,” he said politely. He gave each sketch an objective glance and straightened a line on Nori's face, added a shadow on Bofur's jaw, and set them down again. He couldn't very well hide them now. Dori had already seen them. Hopefully he hadn't seen what Ori had in the originals.

“This is incredible, Ori,” Dori said as he twitched the parchment from his fingers, giving it a closer look. “The way they seem to turn toward each other, the – I can almost see what they're thinking. It's an amazing likeness of them both.” He hadn't missed the way the faces were half turned toward each other, nor the hints of longing on both of them. They were quite obvious, and at the same time, well hidden. Ori was talented in more ways than just writing, it appeared.

Ori blushed. Mahal have mercy and not let Dori see the other sketches! These were bad enough. “I only draw what I see,” he said slowly as he watched Nori and Bofur, completely unnoticed by either of them. “And they want to be together. I can see that. Why can't they?”

“Perhaps it's better if they don't see it, Ori.” Dori's hand lingered a moment on his shoulder as he rose. “It's getting late. You should try to sleep if you can.”

Ori nodded, defeated. He wanted to help them, and obviously Dori thought it was a bad idea. But those two would dance to their own tune, he was suddenly certain, and no matter what Dori said. “Soon, Dori,” he promised. But there was one other sketch he wanted to do before he retired.

(Nori)

Nori was surprised when it was Dori who sought him out and not Bofur. His brother didn't say much to him beyond the usual “you should really give up such things and become respectable” speech. Not any more, anyway.

But tonight was a bit different. Yes, Dori still thought he should stop being a thief, but that wasn't going to happen, so he stopped listening. But when Dori mentioned Bofur, he snapped back to full focus. “What about Bofur?” he demanded, interrupting quickly. Blast. He certainly hadn't meant to betray any interest in the miner and right now, he was failing miserably at keeping the secret. That angered him but he reined it in quickly. No sense letting Dori know he was on the right track, certainly. He'd never hear the end of it.

“I said, if your interest in him is sincere, you should show him,” Dori was saying quietly. “Don't string him along, Nori. He's not like others you've had. Bofur is a good Dwarf, a steady hand, and you shouldn't toy with him.”

Nori blinked. Dori lecturing HIM on his love life he hadn't expected. Not that there was anything like a love life involved, really. It was just sex. That was all. Besides, what right had Dori to interfere anyway? “What makes you think I'm interested in him?” he asked quietly. He wasn't going to admit it to anyone, and he thought he was dissembling quite well. 

“Your brother is a talented artist as well as a scribe,” Dori replied evenly as they turned to look out into the night. “He has a knack for showing what lies beneath the surface. And he's been sketching both of you.”

That was a surprise. He knew Ori drew, but he hadn't realized it was so telling. He'd have to get a look at the picture. “I don't know what you're talking about, Dori,” he stated firmly. “I've no interest in the miner whatsoever. And even if I did, it's really none of your business.” He gave a tiny smile. 

“Is that why you've got Bofur's pipe?” Dori was observant, when he wanted to be. “Or did you just steal it?”

Nori wanted to groan but he stifled it. Trust Dori to pick NOW to notice things. “Oh, I nicked it. I'll give it back. It was too easy.” He shrugged. “No challenge at all.” He would have said more but he saw Bofur coming out of the corridor a ways down and raised a hand. “No time like the present. Hey, Bofur!” He sidestepped Dori, effectively dismissing him, and went to greet his – he'd thought “lover” initially but he wasn't sure that was accurate. There was nothing of the heart in this. He wouldn't let there be. Emotional attachments were clumsy, unnecessary things and he didn't want any. 

He handed the pipe to the miner with a wry grin. “Too easy,” he said simply as he strode past then, on his way to anywhere else. He couldn't have any fun with Bofur with Dori nosing around, and he needed to get a look at that sketch Dori had referred to. What was Ori seeing about them? It had to be serious. 

Bofur took the pipe with some bemusement and turned to regard Dori for a moment. “I don't suppose ye know what that was all about?” he asked with a wry grin. 

Dori shook his head. “I suppose it's just Nori being himself,” he replied evenly. “It's late. Good night, Bofur.”

“Night.” Bofur stood there for a moment and then continued to his room, thinking about his thief.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori makes a discovery and changes the rules a bit...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm overwhelmed by the response this thing is getting! Thanks, y'all! I'll try not to disappoint...

FIVE

Ori shifted in his sleep and Nori froze until he calmed again.

He had to see this sketch. It wasn't really a rational decision; but something in it had prompted Dori to try and talk to him about Bofur, and that wasn't something he wanted to think about. He didn't want to think about that discussion at all. The only thing that had saved him from more of Dori's well-meaning drivel was Bofur's timely arrival in the hallway. So he'd taken the opportunity to pass Bofur's purloined pipe back to him as he went past and fled. Well. Left quickly. He really wasn't running from Dori.

Ori settled back down and Nori continued his search. The boy never left the journal where it could be damaged, but here where it was safe he had a habit of leaving it where he could grab it quickly. Nori picked it up and slipped silently onto the balcony where he would have moonlight to see by and opened it. Several loose pages near the back got his attention and he brought them out, unfolding them carefully and becoming more and more concerned with every one he saw.

The one of him and Bofur was laid aside for the moment when he came to it. He was much, MUCH more interested in the ones Ori had hidden behind it.

So, his little brother had a crush on the warrior, did he? Page after page of Dwalin emerged, each one done just a bit differently, each one catching the burly Dwarf in a different fashion, all of them lovingly drawn and exquisitely accurate. Oh, he had it bad.

This was a troubling discovery. Ori was far too young to be thinking of such things. And Dwalin was far, far older, more experienced, and just in general a muscle bound lunkhead. Nori doubted he'd ever read a book. No, he wasn't right for Ori, not at all.

He took a deep breath. Ori was an adult. He was young, yes, but an adult, and as such, could make his own decisions. Nori shouldn't interfere. He shouldn't. 

But why Dwalin? Why not one of the lads? Fíli and Kíli were near the same age, and much more suitable companions. Educated, of Durin's line itself. Certainly more attractive, and at least not covered with tattoos and battle scars. They would be more believable as crushes than Dwalin.

He had to make a decision. He had to choose, right now, whether or not to tell Dori about this and try to thwart what he saw as a massive mistake – or to let things be and let Ori make his own decisions and live with the consequences. 

He sighed heavily as he carefully replaced all the sketches but one in the journal and put it back just as he had found it. Then he slipped out, as silently as he'd arrived, and went to his spot in the woods. 

He needed to think about a lot of things and not just Ori. But Ori would come first. So, he settled back against a tree at the edge of the glade, watching the house, and considering everything. 

Ori wanted Dwalin. He would NEVER understand it, but that was what was. And while he knew that it was undoubtedly a HUGE mistake, he would help his brother. Starting with NOT telling Dori what he'd found. But he and Ori would have a talk about this. 

That decision made, he brought out the sketch he'd purloined of him and Bofur. It was a beautiful creation, and it made Bofur look – look – he didn't have the words. His fingers traced the miner's image lightly, almost reverently, and he sighed again. This was not at all going to plan.

He didn't want to be in love with Bofur. He didn't want to feel anything but lust and release. And damn him, that bloody miner, that toymaker, that DWARF had wormed his way in and made him FEEL. Damn him.

No. No, it wasn't love. At the most, it was affection. At the most. He was still free, he would stay free. No strings. And Bofur had agreed to that, so it wasn't an issue. But he had also agreed that if anyone found out, it would be over, as Nori had demanded. So was it over? Ori knew, and Dori. 

What did it matter, really? Nori was making the rules. He could set that one aside. And he didn't have to act like a love struck dwarfling, either. Nothing had to change. Nothing WOULD change. He'd make sure of it. They would still be extremely discreet, and they would still be able to satisfy each other. Yes, it could still work.

The sound of a flute came to him on the breeze and he rose, listening carefully to the sadness of the tune. It was a total departure from Bofur's usual music, and it pulled at him. He had to find out what had upset his miner. Something had; the tune was positively melancholy.

He found Bofur in another clearing a few yards away, seated in the darkness under the trees with his flute, oblivious to everything else. The music seemed to consume him, holding him under its spell, and Nori settled to the ground behind Bofur to listen. 

When silence finally fell, Nori didn't want to break it. He didn't have to.

“Enjoyed that, did ye?” Bofur asked quietly. “Somethin I learned in Ered Luin. Pretty lass taught it t'me, said it was a lament.” He shrugged without turning; he knew exactly where Nori was. It was as if he were attuned to the thief's presence. “She taught me a lot. Can't say she broke m'heart, because she didn't. But she bruised it somewhat.” 

Nori had a sudden and completely irrational desire to find this woman and hurt her. She had hurt his miner and that wasn't acceptable. Firmly he reined his emotions back. Not love. Not jealous. Affection at the most. “You put feeling in the music. I can't do that.” The words were out before he could censor them but he didn't regret it, not really. It was the truth. 

“So I'll play somethin fun fer ye, then.” And Bofur was off and piping, the notes ringing clear and happy in the clearing. And when the tune was done, Nori gave him a round of applause which prompted Bofur to stand and bow, a grin on his face.

Nori stood as well and pulled Bofur close, kissing him gently. Bofur responded, winding his arms around his thief, a little unnerved by the change. Nori had sworn not to kiss him. He was changing the rules. 

Bofur liked the change. Nori's kisses were very like his thief; warm, tender, gentle, and more than a hint of danger lurking under the surface. And he wasn't going to question it, either. It felt too good. 

Nori deepened the kiss, holding Bofur more tightly, one hand going to twine in his hair again and the other pulling him closer, holding him tighter against Nori's body. 

Finally they broke apart and Nori rested his forehead against Bofur's. Neither spoke, and neither stepped away from the loose embrace. It was comfortable in a way neither had really expected to find and they were unwilling for it to end.

Nori drew back first, his face impassive. “I don't love you,” he said firmly. “Kissing – I suppose we can drop that rule. But the others stand.” He watched Bofur closely. “Discretion. Anyone finds out, we're done.”

“I haven't forgotten.” But Nori was willing to kiss him. Bofur carefully nurtured the tiny ember of hope that had bloomed in his chest. “But if you hadn't noticed, we're alone.” He let his hands move slowly around to run down Nori's chest and stop just at the waist, resting on his hips. “That first night, Nori, I had all the fun. I'd like t'return the favor.”

Nori stared at him for a moment before nodding. There was something in his miner's eyes that drew him, promised pleasures beyond his experience. 

Bofur swooped in at his nod and kissed him, letting his tongue duel with the thief's while his hands mapped out the planes of his lover's body. He moved them slowly backward so they were in the shadow of the trees furthest from the dwelling, never stopping his movements, never breaking the kiss, until he was able to lay Nori down in the soft grass and began to work the laces of his tunic. He worked his mouth lower, nibbling along the lines of Nori's jaw, down his throat, then following where his clothing had been removed, tasting every inch of skin that he bared to the cool night air. 

His hands weren't idle, skimming along Nori's flesh, stopping to tease one pebbled nipple and then the other before he began to suckle lightly at one and then the other as his hands continued lower, barely touching, ghosting across the lines of Nori's stomach and even lower till they grasped the prize.

Nori wasn't silent. He couldn't be. Bofur's touch, his calloused hands brought new sensations, strong ones, stronger than he'd felt before. He moaned, the sound bringing Bofur to greater efforts because he wanted it repeated.

Bofur listened, varying his touch and moving his head lower, hearing the sounds that meant his lover was pleased with what he was doing and repeating the action. He raised his eyes when Nori's hands swept his hat aside and tangled into his hair. “Let me hear ye, luv,” he murmured as his hands stroked the hard flesh lightly, teasingly. “Tell me what ye like, how it feels.” 

Nori growled and bucked upward as Bofur licked at the tip, swirling his tongue in the slit before wrapping his lips around just the tip and humming softly. “Mahal, Bofur, that's -” A wordless moan left him then as Bofur took him even deeper in, swallowing him down nearly to the base, and rational thought left him completely. 

Bofur grinned around him, one hand moving to stroke the flesh just behind Nori's balls, humming a bit more loudly as he moved a fingertip to just barely touch that tight ring of muscle just beyond. Nori thrust upward, and Bofur swallowed him in again, giving just the tiniest bit of suction on the upstroke and Nori nearly screamed from the pleasure he felt.

His hand tightened in Bofur's braid and he tugged, not so gently, forcing his miner to look up at him though Bofur never ceased his movements. Nori was nearly mindless by now and it took a great effort for him to speak. “If you stop, I'll kill you,” he gasped brokenly.

Bofur had no intentions of stopping. Nori was close, he could feel how close in the twitch of his flesh, and Bofur increased his efforts, letting that fingertip not only graze Nori's entrance while he sucked but to dip just inside, not enough to really penetrate but enough to put the tiniest bit of pressure there. 

Nori roared as he came, his hips bucking wildly as Bofur swallowed what he offered and that maddening pressure returned whenever he was on the downstroke. Teased and tormented from two directions, he thought he'd never stop.

It didn't last long; Bofur licked him clean and then crawled upward to lie next to his thief, saying nothing, merely watching Nori's face as he came down from the peak.

“Mahal, Bofur, where'd you learn THAT?” Nori demanded as he finally got his breathing under control. “You'd be worth real coin in the Iron Hills, m'friend.”

“Aye, but then ye'd have t'share,” Bofur grinned back as he caught the jest behind the words. Nori would never truly sell him. 

In a lightning move, Nori rolled them to straddle Bofur's hips and hold his arms above his head, his face tight. The miner blinked in surprise as Nori lowered his lips to within mere inches of Bofur's ear. “I don't share,” he hissed vehemently. “You're mine, Bofur. I might not love you but you're still mine.”

Bofur shivered, but not with fear. He found he liked Nori being possessive. “Aye, luv, I'm yers,” he whispered back, his voice full of promise. “Fer as long as ye want me t'be.”

Nori watched his face for a moment in shock. He hadn't expected that declaration. He had expected shock, anger at such treatment especially after something so intimately special. He hadn't had any inkling that Bofur truly cared for him. 

It shook him to his very soul.

He kissed his miner, deep, wild, and possessive, regarded him for a moment more, still speechless, and then pulled back to dress. And with one more searing glance, he was gone.

Bofur stayed in the glade for a long time, thinking.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little introspection... from both sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I'm... speechless. Thanks, guys!

Nori avoided Bofur for several days. He wasn't sure what to make of the miner's declaration. He didn't want entanglements. And what was wrong with Bofur anyway? Why would he want a THIEF of all things? According to popular opinion, thieves were wicked, evil people with no sense of honor.

That couldn't be further from the truth.

There was a code among them, at least the ones Nori knew. You never took from anyone who couldn't afford it. You never betrayed your fellows. If you snooped, or spied, it was for good cause, not just information's sake. And above all, if you gave your word, you KEPT it.

He had answered Thorin's call not in anticipation of riches, but because he had promised to do so. Thorin had made use of his talents more than once, and he paid handsomely for it, but he had also at one point turned a blind eye to Nori's clandestine activities and that was worth a debt to be paid. If he'd been caught, he would have been at the very least imprisoned for a very long time. So when Thorin called for him, he'd answered full willing.

But why in Mahal's name would Bofur flout convention and get attached to Nori? That was the problem. He had no doubt the miner loved him, not after that exchange. But why? He wasn't very lovable. 

And unfortunately, he'd never understand it if he didn't just TALK to Bofur. There lay the problem.

He was almost afraid to talk to his miner. After the way he'd left Bofur after their last tryst, he rather thought his lover might be a bit more than merely angry. Or hurt. And he didn't know how to fix either state.

His lover. Nori wanted to hit his head against something hard. He didn't want a lover. He didn't want a friend, even, not really. He wanted sex with no strings, a little fun. He didn't want love. Love meant permanence and he wasn't ready to embrace that yet. He wanted to be able to fade away without notice if he needed to.

But he couldn't do that anyway. He'd given his word to Thorin to see this through, and he would see it through. So no matter what, he couldn't run. He wanted to. He wanted to run very fast and very far away from this FEELING the other provoked in him. But he couldn't. So, he needed to face it.

And for that, he had to talk to Bofur.

*

Bofur sat quietly, thinking.

His pipe was in hand, but he hadn't really smoked from it for some time. It had gone out and he hadn't relit it. He was too distracted by thoughts of Nori.

He'd thought for a moment that Nori might actually care for him. He kept saying he didn't love Bofur, and that was all right. Maybe he didn't. But he had claimed the miner pretty clearly, love or not.

Bofur would be more than satisfied with that, if Nori hadn't been avoiding him since. It was almost as if he were ashamed of what he had said and that hurt Bofur more than he cared to admit. He wanted nothing more from his thief than what Nori wanted to give – but apparently Nori felt he was being asked to give more than he was comfortable with.

When he had realized Nori was his One, he didn't know. But he was truly, completely, and permanently in love with the thief. And Nori didn't feel the same way.

Bofur knew it happened that way, sometimes. But knowing didn't help the desolation in his heart. Nori had seemingly just walked away from him, and it hurt. 

The absolute worst part of it, though, had been finding his earring placed just so on his pillow. He couldn't have missed it. 

Nori had returned everything he'd stolen, which had turned out to be a lot more than Bofur had realized, but it was the earring that had hurt the worst. It seemed to say that there was no more hope. 

He glanced up at the stars, confused and in pain. He had to make sense of this, he had to. And he had to decide what he was going to do. 

No, there was no decision to be made, really. He would wait. He might not be patient, it might take forever, it might never happen, but he would wait for Nori to come back to him. He had accepted his thief's terms, and those terms didn't include Bofur pursuing him. So he would wait.

He sighed heavily and relit his pipe. The others were gathered inside again, but in his current mood, he would stay away. No, that wouldn't do. Any behavior out of the ordinary would be noticed, and he didn't want to have to explain his apparent inattention to the quest. So, time to play the fool, as he always did, and hide away the pain he felt, as he always had. He rose and went back inside, his smile as always firmly on his face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori confronts Ori... and gains a little insight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit longer, but you can blame that on Nori. He wouldn't shut up. :)

Ori was in his corner sketching again when Nori dropped beside him and handed him a mug. “Dori's occupied for the moment,” he said without preamble, “and I thought we could have a talk.” His words were friendly enough, but there was steel in his tone. 

“I should hit you,” Ori replied evenly as he continued to sketch. Tonight, it was Bilbo. The Hobbit's face was beginning to take shape on the parchment and Nori admired it for a moment before Ori spoke again. “I know it was you who took that drawing.”

“That's what I want to talk to you about, Ori. The sketches.” Nori didn't look at his brother, not directly, but he could still see Ori's reactions. “I saw them, little brother. ALL of them.” 

Ori didn't react visibly but Nori could feel him tense. “No, you didn't. Or you wouldn't be so calm.”

Nori's eyebrow raised. “I don't think I want to know about the others, then.” He watched Bofur through the flames of the fire, knowing Ori would notice but say nothing. And no one else would notice, certainly. No one cared what interested a thief. 

“Probably not.” Ori put down his quill for a moment, rubbing his hand, and still didn't look directly at Nori. “You should talk to him,” he said bluntly. 

So much for his little brother remaining silent. “What? Why?”

“Because you're both miserable. Because we'll be leaving soon, and it's dangerous out there. Something might – might happen, and you'd never know what might have been.” Ori was more than a little sad. For all his words, he'd never say anything to Dwalin, not on his own. And not just for fear of causing Dori fits. He was too afraid his feelings wouldn't be returned. 

“I can't give him what he wants, Ori.” Nori's voice was soft. He'd been through all this with himself and it hurt just as much talking with Ori about it. “I can't. It isn't in me. I can't share that much of myself with anyone. I WON'T.”

“I don't think he'd care that he didn't have all of you.” The words were soft but there was steel in them. “He cares about you. I think he would be happy to have anything you could give him. Anything.” His eyes cut to Dwalin for only a moment. 

“Much like you, Ori?” Nori hated seeing the boy this way. If he'd had any inkling this was the way he felt, he'd have taken steps a long time ago. Such as NOT arguing with Dori about him being old enough for this quest, as dangerous as it had looked even then. But he had, and this was the result. “So willing to accept crumbs when what you want is the feast?” He didn't know where all this was coming from, but it was helping him a bit as well. He still didn't understand. But he thought he might be a bit closer to it. “He's not right for you, though. He's probably never even held a book, much less read one. You wouldn't have anything to talk about.”

“Just like Bofur is wrong for you.” Ori did look at him then. “You don't understand why he loves you, but he does. He's a miner, you're a thief. He's respectable, you're not. I know all about the differences, Nori. And I don't care about them. Why do you?”

“I – don't know.” Nori watched his miner for a moment more. Why did it matter? “Draw him for me, Ori. Please.” _Give me something to remember him by if something does happen._ This was not going at all the way he'd imagined. He had thought he was going to warn Ori off the warrior, and instead he was getting a little more insight into his miner. It was – strange. “But I'm not talking about him right now.”

“Yes, we are. Just like we're talking about Dwalin.” Ori looked around for a moment to make sure Dori wasn't near. “Love doesn't make sense, brother.” He got a fresh scrap of parchment and raised his quill. “I'll draw him for you every night, if you like. Just like I do Dwalin. But you need to talk to him.”

“I'll talk to him if you talk to Dwalin.” Nori hadn't known he was going to say it but on reflection, it seemed fairly safe. Ori was shy. He'd never take action on his own.

Ori dropped his quill and placed the sketches he'd already done carefully into the book, and then closed it and set it with his things. Nori blinked when he rose and made his way around the fire toward the warrior and his mouth went dry. Ori was going to do it. 

“Mister Dwalin? I wonder if I might have a word.”

Dwalin looked up and smiled slightly. “What's on yer mind, lad?” he rumbled evenly. 

“I've a bit of a dilemma,” Ori said softly as he settled down on the ground next to the big Dwarf. “My sling is apparently not as dangerous a weapon as I might need out here. I wonder if you might teach me to use this a bit better?” He showed Dwalin his knife, scabbard and all.

Nori groaned. The lad was smart, very smart. There was nothing in this Dori could possibly object to. He'd obviously given it a great deal of thought. But how would Dwalin respond?

The burly Dwarf took the little blade and inspected it carefully, obviously giving the request due consideration. “Aye, I could teach ye,” he said slowly. “But this might not be much better. Too small.” He reached into his pack and produced a larger, wicked looking dagger. “This'll be better, if yer serious.”

Ori took it and looked it over, holding it lightly and then reading the runes on the hilt. A small smile touched his lips. “Dumâl,” he murmured as he turned it over carefully. “The bleeder. A good name for a blade.” 

“It's yers if ye want to learn,” Dwalin said simply. “We can start tomorrow. You should get some sleep, though, Ori. It's gettin late. And trainin with me won't be easy.”

Kíli's head snapped up and Fíli choked a little on his smoke as they overheard, but they wisely kept their mouths shut. Nori simply groaned under his breath and slunk away, trying to think of how to talk to Bofur. He'd promised Ori, after all.

Ori rose, thanked Dwalin properly, collected his book, and went to his bedroll where he let the smile escape. Dwalin had called him by name. 

It was a start.

(Later that night)

Nori went to the glade Bofur had loved him in, wanting a little peace. He'd promised Ori he would talk to his miner, but he had no idea what to say.

He knew Bofur loved him. It was obvious, if you knew where to look, and of course he'd had occasion to experience it as well. But he didn't know how to accept it. He wanted Bofur, wanted him with a need that scared him to the depths of his soul, but he didn't want the emotions. He wanted to be free.

He sat down in the grass and filled his pipe. Maybe here, in the quiet, surrounded by memories of that last night with Bofur, he could figure out what to do. And at least he could remember.

He could remember the sheer decadence of the experience, the way Bofur had worked him so expertly, so LOVINGLY, making everything just that much more explosive. The way he had wanted to wrap his miner up and hold him close after, to hold him and not let go. The way he had joked about how much coin Bofur would be worth and his overreaction to the miner's return jest.

He could still feel Bofur beneath him, straining upward, RESPONDING to his admittedly jealous and possessive kiss. The thought of him with anyone else tore at Nori and the words he had said to Bofur, claiming him so openly, Mahal, they sounded like the worst sort of obsession. 

But what would it hurt? Bofur wanted to be with him. Bofur was the kindest, gentlest Dwarf he'd ever encountered, and if it gave him pleasure to be with Nori, why deny that? He had his own pleasure in this arrangement as well. His miner was amazing.

He was still considering his options when Bofur appeared at the edge of the clearing. 

“I'll go,” Bofur said quickly. He didn't want Nori to think he'd followed him out here. 

“No, wait.” Nori rose to meet him, one hand outstretched. “We need to talk.”

Bofur looked at the ground then and Nori sighed heavily. “I didn't think talk was what ye wanted, Nori,” he said quietly as he settled to the ground, bringing out his pipe. He couldn't look at Nori, though. He wanted to, he wanted to touch his one, to hold him close and listen to his heartbeat, he wanted to bring him whatever pleasure he desired, and he couldn't. Nori wouldn't allow it.

Nori settled to the ground next to him and Bofur winced inwardly. This was torture. Nori had walked away, no longer wanted him, but it seemed it wasn't completely over. But his words weren't what Bofur expected to hear.

“I'm sorry.” Nori heard Bofur's gasp, but said nothing of it. Had he really hurt his lover that badly? It seemed so. And he was about to do it again. The thought disturbed him. “I can't give you what you want, Bofur. I don't – I don't love you.” Did he? He didn't know and he didn't want to find out. Freedom, he had to think of his freedom, he didn't want any strings in his life. 

“I know.” Bofur felt wretched. He loved, he wanted, and he couldn't have. It was over. Nori was putting the mortar on the tomb. But his thief could still come back to him, so he wouldn't allow himself to lose hope. “But I love you. And if you want me, I'm yers.” He couldn't forget how Nori had claimed him outright, right here, in this very spot. “However ye want me. Friend, lover, whatever it is ye want. An if ye want me t'leave ye alone, I'll do that, too.” His voice was full of pain.

“I don't want you to leave me alone.” Nori was speaking slowly, feeling his way along. “I don't want entanglements, all right? It's just good sex. Friendship, maybe. But for good or ill, Bofur, I claimed you as mine, and I meant it. Doesn't mean we have to be all sappy and love each other. Or at least I don't. But if you still follow the rules, we can be together.”

Bofur nodded, his eyes downcast, and then he faced Nori squarely, letting the thief see his pain. “Ye hurt me, Nori. Ye gave everything back. Even this.” He touched his earring. “I thought it meant ye were done with me. It hurt.” 

“I never meant to hurt you.” Nori had to look away. If this was what Ori meant by love, he wanted no part of it. Caring more for another person than himself was foreign to him, and it hurt. “And I'll probably hurt you again. But if we stick to the rules, we can still be together. And I promise to TRY not to hurt you. As long as you accept that I don't love you we're fine.”

Bofur touched Nori's face, his fingers gentle and loving. “Aye, I can accept that. But I'm asking ye to accept somethin, too.” He held Nori's chin for a moment. “I love ye, Nori. You're my One. I'll wait forever fer ye. But ye have t'accept that love. Don't push me away any more. Next time, One or not, love ye or no, I might not come back.”

Nori couldn't look away. He wanted to. He wanted to hide from what he saw in his lover's face, that naked emotion, the love he saw there. Bofur didn't just want him. He wanted to be EVERYTHING for Nori. He didn't even care if Nori loved him back. He just wanted to share the love HE felt with Nori, and that made Nori very, very frightened. It also made him feel very, very warm, deep inside, and he didn't understand it.

He didn't understand anything he was feeling. It had always been about him. He'd never cared much about what other people thought, or felt. And he was finding now that hurting Bofur hurt HIM and he didn't understand why. He didn't understand this NEED he had to claim his miner, to keep him from others who might love him in return. He was extremely possessive and that was also something new. 

If it was love, he hated it.

But he would endure it. Maybe it would change. Maybe he could go back to how things were, when it was only his needs and desires he was responsible for. Or maybe... maybe it would get easier to want to do things for Bofur's sake. He was already thinking how to make it up to his lover for hurting him in the first place. And the simplest thing, the first step, was to accept Bofur's one demand.

“I know you love me,” he began slowly. “And I don't know why. But I won't stop you from saying it, and I won't stop you from showing it. Just – just be discreet. I don't want you fawning all over me in camp. That rule still stands. Nobody else can know.” But Ori knew. And Dori. Didn't that mean he should end this? Confusion whirled in his head again before settling down. He was the one making the rules. As long as no one else found out, it would be okay. Dori would say nothing more on the subject unless Nori REALLY mistreated Bofur, and that wasn't going to happen. And Ori? Ori would keep silent just so Nori didn't tell Dori about the sketches and the crush he had on Dwalin.

He let his hands frame Bofur's face and kissed him, gently this time. Mahal help him, it felt right. “You're mine, Bofur, whatever else happens. Whether I love you or not, you're mine. I'm not letting you go.” And then he stepped back, gave Bofur a searing glance, full of need and possessiveness. One hand caressed Bofur's cheek and then he was gone again, melting into the darkness around them without a trace.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin starts training Ori and a discussion is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks for all the kudos! Glad y'all are enjoying this!
> 
> For Lomelindi (PirateColey) who still manages to deliver a swift kick in the pants when I need support. :) Love ya doll!

Ori was waiting in the common area when Dwalin came out the next morning. Breakfast was on, and it smelled delicious. Bilbo had joined forces with Bombur and everyone was rather looking forward to something grand.

Eggs, bacon, sausages, and however had Bilbo managed those little cakes? Everyone turned to, knowing that the time was coming they'd be forced back onto travel rations and they were determined to enjoy this while they could. 

Breakfast done, they each turned to their individual pursuits for the day. Dwalin approached Ori. “Ye ready t'learn, lad?”

Ori nodded and rose, following the warrior along the corridor to a large unused room at the end. “Not a proper arena, but it'll do,” Dwalin said quietly as he moved to one side. “You had a knife already. Did ye know how t'use it at all?” He gestured for the boy to bring out Bleeder. “Let's see what ye know, then we kin really start.”

Ori brought out Bleeder, but the balance wasn't what he was used to and he fumbled for a moment before getting a real grip on it. Dwalin made a disapproving noise and moved forward, taking Ori's hand in his and adjusting his hold. “It has to be part of ye,” he said softly as he let his hand rest just so. “Feel the difference.”

Ori felt a difference, certainly. Both in the blade and in his own breathing. It hitched just a bit when Dwalin touched him and he hoped the warrior hadn't noticed. “Like this, then?” he murmured as he shifted just slightly. 

Dwalin stifled a growl and stepped closer, letting his arm rest along the line of Ori's, molding them together. “Try this.” 

Ori's face flamed but he tried to concentrate on what Dwalin was teaching. The feel of the blade in his hands CHANGED, became easier and stronger. But was it because of Dwalin reinforcing it, or just his touch? Ori didn't know. And right now, he didn't care. He let himself relax, letting his slighter body rest against Dwalin's, letting the older show him what he needed to know. Never mind that he was having a hard time concentrating with Dwalin in such close contact. The feel of him against Ori was maddening, making him hot and cold by turns and he hoped the other wouldn't notice. 

Dwalin moved closer, holding Ori's hands around the knife, his chest against the lad's back to be able to guide him completely. It didn't hurt that he found the lad a treat to watch. He was young, but he was strong. And while that sling wasn't a worthwhile weapon against a real foe, Ori used it to good effect. He'd nearly put out that warg's eye with it. But that wasn't what Dwalin was thinking about now.

He wanted Ori to be able to defend himself, but it was more than that. It was protective, and tender, and possessive, and Dori would kill him. He didn't care. The lad was of age and perfectly able to make such a decision.

Right now, though, he had a lesson to finish, if he could. If he could keep from just turning the lad around and kissing the breath out of him. Oh, he'd known Ori was watching him for a long time, and he had been patient. He had waited as long as he could and now that he had the boy in his arms, he knew what he wanted. IF it was what Ori wanted as well.

“Right,” he growled as he drew his attention back once more. “Move like this.” He suited actions to words, letting Ori feel the way he drew the blade along the air. He ran a few practice passes, letting Ori experience the way it worked, and then just stood, not releasing his scribe but no longer moving. “Good. That's good, Ori. Think ye could do that yerself?”

Ori nodded once. He didn't trust himself to speak. Having Dwalin so near was having an unfortunate effect on him and he didn't want the warrior to notice. He wanted to just turn around and kiss the older dwarf, but he was afraid. Afraid that it would be too forward, afraid the other didn't want the same thing from him. Afraid. He fought to still the tremors that threatened, not knowing if they were from fear or desire. Or both. “Let me try,” he finally murmured. 

Dwalin stepped back, keenly feeling the loss of Ori's warmth against him, and leaned against the wall to watch. Ori didn't do half bad for never having any true training. All his life, the boy had wanted to be a scribe, had learned to fight with words rather than actions. He was ill suited for this quest, and yet had volunteered full willing, knowing the danger. And that made Dwalin admire him all the more. “Someone needs to record it for our histories,” Ori had said at the outset. 

Ori finished the pass and looked over to Dwalin, half expecting a harsh criticism. This wasn't at all like Fíli and Kíli had told him their training had been, when they cornered him the night before to warn him about Dwalin's tactics. “Brutal,” Fíli had said, and Kíli had added, “Painful. He'll knock you about till you get it right.” And he'd done none of those things. He'd been more than gentle. 

“Good. Ye'll need t'keep practicin, though.” Dwalin came close again and Ori blushed. Did he know what the scribe was thinking, what he was feeling? What Ori wanted from him? He was being entirely too gentle for what Ori expected. Especially after Fíli and Kíli had sat with him late into the night, talking about how Dwalin had trained THEM. 

Dwalin sighed heavily and took hold of Ori's free hand. He had to say something, and he had to do it now, or he'd lose his nerve. The lad was already a friend, and he wanted more. He had to at least try. “Ori, I've got – there's somethin I'd like t'ask. Ye kin say no, if ye want, and it'll be over.”

“I accept.” Ori caught Dwalin's eye and held it. “I accepted Bleeder, Dwalin, did you really think I would refuse you wanting to court me? It was a wonderful gift.” Oh, dear. That was NOT what he had meant to say. What if Dwalin hadn't been asking that particular question? The gift of the knife aside, how did Ori really know Dwalin wanted to court him? He blushed heavily. “That is, if that's what you're asking, of course.” He looked down in embarrassment.

Dwalin tipped his face up and kissed him gently. “That's what I'm askin,” he agreed quietly. “Yer sure?”

“I've never been more sure of anything.” Ori grinned then. “But I'm afraid we'll still have to work with this. I want to be able to protect myself so you don't have to do it.” His smile faded then. “You've more important people to protect than me.”

“There is NO ONE more important to me than you, Ori,” Dwalin said fiercely. “I have a responsibility to Thorin and the lads, but that doesn't change what I feel fer you. And that said, let's really get t'work. Ye've a lot t'learn, and we'll be leavin here soon.” He drew his own dagger. “Watch me, and repeat.”

*

That night, after dinner, Dwalin approached Dori where he sat with his brothers. Ori held his breath. Dwalin wanted to court him, but was he really going to talk to Dori? Now? In front of Nori? He was suddenly very afraid.

“I'd like a word with ye, Dori,” the warrior said gruffly as he stood before the older Dwarf. 

“I rather thought you might,” Dori replied with a sniff. “Giving Ori a knife? What were you thinking?” He couldn't credit that Ori had asked such a thing of Dwalin in the first place, not his gentle, bookish youngest brother. 

“I was thinking that he needed to be able to fight, to protect himself,” Dwalin replied with a stifled growl. “Being a scribe is a good thing, Dori, but he needs help out here and ye can't always watch over him. Neither can I.”

“Of course you can't. Your first responsibility is to Thorin.” But Dori was softening slightly, at least in that regard. “Fine. But the knife will be returned. It's entirely inappropriate.”

“Not if I'm courting yer brother.” 

Dwalin's words fell into silence and Dori stared at him for a long moment. Nori snorted and looked away, a tiny smile on his lips. This was going to be good.

“Courting Ori?” Dori sounded incredulous. “He's much too young. Certainly too young for these kinds of decisions.”

“I'm of age, Dori,” Ori broke in smoothly, his voice even but firm. “And I am perfectly capable of making decisions. Dwalin approached me quite properly about courting me and I've accepted.”

“I doubt it was proper,” Dori muttered darkly. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I'm only looking out for your best interests, Ori. What could you possibly have in common? He's a warrior, you're a scribe. It will never work.”

“Dori, leave off.” Nori snorted again. “He's old enough to lay his life on the line for this quest. That makes him old enough to make this decision.” 

“It was quite proper.” Ori pressed his advantage. He hadn't quite expected Nori to support him, but he was glad of it. “As for having things in common – you don't know him well enough to know that. And having grown up with Balin I'm quite sure he at least knows how to read well. He has knowledge of history, having helped to write some of it.” Azunulbizar came to mind and he wouldn't remind Dwalin of it but he was sure Dori would understand. 

“I will care for him until my dying breath,” Dwalin said into the ensuing silence. Dori seemed completely nonplussed by the mere thought of Ori being courted, and not just because it was Dwalin. He rather thought Dori would be just as discomfited by anyone trying to get close to his youngest brother. “True, my first responsibility is to Thorin. But I will say this: I will not allow harm to come to Ori if it is in any way in my power to prevent it. That means I will teach him to use that blade, and anything else he might need to survive in the wild. With or without yer permission.”

“Yes, well, teaching him survival is I suppose necessary,” Dori admitted with a frown. “But courting him certainly isn't.”

“It is, because I want him to.” Ori wasn't backing down and Nori gave him full marks for stubbornness. “This isn't about me being courted, Dori. It's about me growing up and you not wanting me to.” He caught Dori's eye and held it, willing him to understand. “I'm an adult. And this might not go anywhere. That's what courting is for, to see if we can get along together well enough. But Dwalin wants to court me, and I want him to court me, and I agreed to let him court me. So you need to let go of me enough for it to happen or I will be miserable and that will upset you, too. Please don't make me choose.”

“Dori.” Nori put a hand on his brother's shoulder. “Come with me for a minute.” He led his brother a short distance away while making certain Dori had an unobstructed view of both Dwalin and Ori, if only to ease his mind that nothing improper was going to happen. “Dori, listen to me.”

Dori made a noise of assent, but his eyes never left Ori. “What is it?”

“You have to let this happen.” Nori knew he'd get that stare, and there it was. Dori wasn't even thinking about watching the others. His attention was on Nori, now, and shock radiated from every inch of him. “Think about what we're doing. This quest – it's bloody dangerous. We all knew it when we agreed to come. And look at everything that's happened so far.” His voice was soft; he didn't want Ori overhearing. “You agreed to let him come along, and look where it's gotten him. Almost eaten by trolls, Wargs, nearly killed by Orcs... he needs to learn. And not just defense.”

He waited a moment, but when Dori said nothing, he chose his words carefully. “He may never have another chance to be happy, Dori. And he's happy now. Look at him!” Ori was smiling about something Dwalin had said, and he was showing off something in his book. That in itself spoke volumes to Nori about the attachment between them. Ori showed no one that book, even Dori. “Would you take that away from him? We could all die as soon as we leave here. Let him die happy.”

“And what about you, then?” Dori no longer watched the youngest. Nori was his brother as well. “Don't you deserve the same? You watch Bofur when you think he isn't watching you. You've stolen his things, and you only do that to tease when there's no profit in it for you. Why won't you take your own advice?”

“We're not talking about me.” Nori wanted to stop this before it started. This was about Ori, not him. He wasn't about to start thinking about Bofur right now. Curse Dori anyway for putting him in a corner; if he disputed the point, then it invalidated his argument for Ori as well. “This is about Ori. And if you're being honest, you'll know I'm right.” But Dori knew he was watching Bofur. This was bad. This was very bad. He had to stop. 

He didn't want to.

He wanted Bofur near. Not necessarily as anything more than his friend and occasional lover, but he couldn't stand the thought of destroying what they had, whatever it was. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't. Bofur would never forgive him for that kind of hurt.

Dori was shaking his head. “I'll let this happen, then. I just hope you realize what you're giving up before it's too late.” He touched Nori's shoulder lightly and then returned to Ori, offering his hand to Dwalin. Nori was close enough to hear Dori inform the warrior that if he hurt Ori in any fashion, there would be nowhere he could hide from Dori's wrath. He saw Ori's blush of shame and heard Dwalin agreeing to those terms. 

That was all he waited for. He had to find somewhere to think.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is long, folks.
> 
> I'm not sorry.

The wee hours of the morning saw them stealing away from Rivendell while the White Council met and their departure would be unhindered. Bofur contrived to be near Nori, at least at the start, but it became quite difficult as fast as they were moving themselves along. Dwalin stayed near Thorin, as was his duty, but he spent the evenings sitting with Ori, chatting about anything that seemed to strike their fancies. Dwalin was surprisingly knowledgeable about many things, including Dwarven law, and that fascinated Ori no end.

Nori spent most of those two weeks contriving instances where he and Bofur could be alone. He'd hoped if he could get enough – and it seemed he'd never get enough of his miner – that he'd be able to walk away. It only seemed to serve to bring them closer together and he was still fighting that with all his might.

Bofur was just enjoying the time he had with Nori. He was doing as asked, and remaining discreet, but the more often Nori sought him out the more hope grew in him. And at night, sometimes, when they enjoyed their after dinner pipes and whatnot, he would catch the thief staring at him, a bemused expression on his face. It was quickly hidden, of course, but still there to be seen by anyone who knew him well.

Then came the stone giants. Bofur couldn't get to Nori, couldn't get away from his perch on the rock, and the company was separated in half by the things. And Nori was on the other side. 

He had a few bad moments where he thought his heart would simply stop beating, where he was sure there was nothing left... but then they saw that the others were alive. Then he thought it might burst with relief.

He heard Thorin's words to their Hobbit and his eyes widened at them. How could Thorin be so cruel? “He's been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.” That wasn't true! Bilbo had saved them from being eaten by the trolls, had stalled for time to allow Gandalf to deal with them. He had earned his place.

He resolved to talk to the little one as soon as they stopped. He heard Thorin calling about shelter and helped the Hobbit to his feet and into the cave.

They settled down at Thorin's orders, each Dwarf finding a spot to himself, and Thorin ordered Bofur to take the first watch. He almost refused; the words Thorin had thrown at Bilbo still rankled within him and he wondered if he was alone in his feeling that Thorin had been an arse. Probably not. But he didn't refuse; Thorin was still his King and he would be treated with respect, even if what he wanted was to beat him.

He had thought it would be an uneventful watch, curled into his little alcove, but then Bilbo walked past him. He'd have thought the burglar was answering natural needs if he hadn't had his pack and sword both strapped on and his walking stick in hand. “Where do you think yer going?” he asked quickly.

“Back to Rivendell” was the answer and Bofur got up in a hurry.

“Ye can't turn back now, aye? Yer part of the company. Yer one of us.”

“I'm not, now am I?” There was pain in Bilbo's voice, Bofur could hear it, and not a little anger. “Thorin said I should never have come and he was right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins. I don't know what I was thinking. I should never have run out my door.”

Bofur was again struck by the change in the little one. He spoke again, not sure what his words would mean to Bilbo. “Yer homesick! I understand.”

It got a reaction but not the one he'd hoped for. “No, you don't, none of you do, you're Dwarves! You're used to, to this life, living on the road, never settling in one place, never belonging anywhere!” His words were furious and then he softened, unsettled by what he had said to the usually merry Dwarf. “I'm sorry, I didn't...” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

Bofur looked thunderstruck and it took him a moment to speak again. “No, you're right.” He looked around at the company, spread out across the cave floor, sleeping as they had become used to on hard packed earth and stone. “We don't belong anywhere.” He turned back to Bilbo, his pain hidden save for his eyes. “I wish ye all the luck in the world.” Bilbo looked up at him and Bofur put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I really do.”

He would have said nothing else, would have allowed the Hobbit to leave, even though Thorin would have been utterly and completely furious at what he saw as a betrayal. Then he saw the glow from Bilbo's little sword. “What's that?”

Then they were falling.

There were goblins. And the possibility of torture. He wormed his way next to Nori, silently offering his support when the Goblin King was questioning them. 

They almost lost their lives when Orcrist was discovered. Thorin was down, they all were, goblins tearing at them, biting, trying to savage them, and there was a flash of light and a booming sound, and then they were up and running, following Gandalf along the passages.

Running, running along the catwalks, desperately trying to cut their way through to the outside. Bofur tried to keep sight of Nori, unaware the thief was desperately trying to find him as well. Ori had been given Dwalin's hammer, and he seemed to use it to good effect, defending himself and anyone else who was near. They were all fighting hard, running hard, and trying to reach the outside before they could be overwhelmed.

Finally they were out, out into the setting sun, running down the mountainside to relative safety. Once they stopped, Gandalf was making a tally of them and they discovered that Bilbo was missing. “Where is Bilbo,” he demanded suddenly. “Where is our Hobbit?” His voice grew stronger when everyone had looked around, but Bilbo was nowhere to be seen. “Where is our Hobbit?”

“Curse the Halfling! Now he's lost?” Dwalin's voice dripped with scorn. “I thought he was with Dori!”

“Don't blame me!” Dori snapped back.

“Well where did you last see him?” Gandalf asked suddenly.

Nori spoke then. He couldn't remain silent when the Hobbit might still be in danger from the goblins. “I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us.” He looked over to Bofur who had his eyes closed, as though the thought of losing Bilbo hurt him. That hurt Nori but he couldn't go to the miner, not now. He would comfort his Bofur later, when there was time. Right now they would need to find Bilbo. 

“What happened exactly?” Gandalf demanded again. “Tell me!”

“I'll tell you what happened,” Thorin growled suddenly. “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door. We'll not be seeing our Hobbit again. He is long gone.”

There was a silence while everyone looked around at each other, surprised by the venom in Thorin's voice. Bofur was reminded of the mountainside, when Thorin had been so harsh to poor Bilbo without even seeming to notice. Now, he certainly knew what he was saying and the miner wanted to throttle him. He wouldn't; Thorin was his King. But he was certainly tempted. He looked to Nori for strength to find the thief staring back at him, disbelief in his face as well.

And then Bilbo stepped out from behind a tree. “No, he isn't,” he said quietly. 

Everyone gave a start of surprise. Bofur heaved a huge sigh of relief and even Nori was affected by the burglar's reappearance. Gandalf leaned heavily on his staff, smiling. “Bilbo Baggins! I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life!”

Bilbo moved among them then, coming closer to the center of the group, but not close to Thorin. Each of the Dwarves watched him. “Bilbo!” Kíli began quickly. “We'd given you up!”

“How on earth did you get past the goblins?” Fíli asked curiously.

“How, indeed,” Dwalin said wonderingly. He had thought the Hobbit too fragile for the wild. To see him standing there, hale and whole, was a bit of a shock.

Bilbo fiddled with his pockets a bit and Gandalf spoke again. “Well, what does it matter? He's back.”

Thorin spoke again, his voice a bit strange for a moment. “It matters. I want to know.” His voice softened slightly. “Why did you come back?”

Bilbo regarded him steadily for several moments before speaking again. He was obviously choosing his words carefully. “I know you doubt me. I know, I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag End.” He shrugged a little. “I miss my books. My armchair. My garden.” He kept his eyes on Thorin's face, watching the impassiveness there, and yet seeing the Dwarf's eyes soften slightly. “See, that's where I belong. That's home.” Another shrug. “That's why I came back. Because... you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.”

Thorin had the good grace to look down for a moment before meeting Bilbo's gaze again, acceptance of the Hobbit's words in his eyes. It humbled him a bit to hear the little one speak so matter of factly about such a thing as taking back their home. It wasn't going to be easy, and it wasn't going to be painless. And yet, he was willing to endure as much as they for something he had never seen, something dear to his friends but not him. Yes, it was humbling indeed.

All of them were watching Bilbo with varying degrees of surprise. And each one of them, in turn, had to look away. Their Hobbit was certainly more than he seemed, to escape from goblins and then promise such a thing as helping with the dragon. Yes, he was worthy of their respect and not their scorn.

A sound from the ridge above them caught their attention then, and they heard Black Speech before wargs descended toward them.

“Out of the frying pan,” Thorin exclaimed softly, his face betraying his apprehension. 

“And into the fire,” Gandalf agreed. “Run. Run!”

They didn't need a second shout. All of them were running again, headed for the trees further down, hoping to be able to elude the monsters and knowing they would have to fight. But when they came to a sheer drop, there was no help for it. Gandalf shouted again. “All of you, into the trees! Climb!”

So they climbed. Even Bilbo was able to get up into the heights, away from the wargs. However, that didn't stop the creatures. They began leaping at the trees, biting at the branches, knocking into them, loosening them, knocking them over. 

Then a pale Orc astride a white warg came forward, speaking the Black Speech of Mordor, and Thorin startled badly. “Azog,” he breathed. His lip curled slightly as he watched the thing speak. It mentioned his father, Thrain, and he shook his head. “It cannot be...”

The wargs came on again. They bit at the branches, they did everything they could to reach the Dwarves, but couldn't. Then they started working together, pushing at the base of the trees, loosening them more, finally managing to knock them down. Dwalin held onto Ori as their tree slid into another, taking the lad with him, keeping him safe. Nori and Bofur leapt from one to another, always keeping an eye on each other, staying together as much as they could. Finally everyone was in the last remaining tree at the edge of the precipice. And the wargs just kept coming.

Gandalf took a pine cone and set fire to it, then provided more of the flaming projectiles to the rest of the Company. They threw them at the wargs, knowing the animals feared the fire and hoping to drive them back. Before long, the ground was ablaze, and the wargs retreated in fear. 

The tree slipped further and Ori lost his grip. He would have fallen to his death save for Dori, who clung to his branch, feet dangling and Ori grabbed them tightly, holding desperately, while Dori called for help from Gandalf. Gandalf got his staff to Dori in time, barely, before both would have crashed downward into the abyss. Dori held on tightly.

Nori exchanged a glance with Bofur, his eyes unreadable, before reaching out his hand to take the miner's. Whatever else happened, if they were to die here, as seemed likely, they would die together. It was enough. Bofur gave him a small, sad smile and tightened his fingers around Nori's. 

Thorin's rage knew no limits. His people were in deadly danger, and this Orc, this THING, was responsible. He rose, his feet somehow finding purchase on the bark of the trunk, and started toward Azog. At first, it was a deliberate movement, stalking forward, watching Azog with hatred, but then it became a faster walk, a jog, and finally a full out sprint as he approached the pale Orc, Orcrist raised high, ready to strike. 

Azog struck first. He urged his warg to leap from the outcropping they'd stood on, reaching Thorin in one bound, the warg's paw slamming into him and knocking him to the ground with a look of surprise. Thorin rose unsteadily, setting himself again, and Azog roared past him, heavy mace raised, and struck him on the upper chest, sending him once more to the ground. The other Dwarves were screaming, in fear of their precarious perch and in panic for their King. Bilbo rose from where he had lain on the tree trunk and watched, horror in his face as the warg grabbed Thorin in its powerful jaws, shaking him like a rag doll.

Thorin was screaming in pain, Dwalin trying to reach him only to nearly fall himself. Azog smiled, a wicked grimace, thinking the Dwarf King was finally defeated, and then Thorin raised Orcrist and let it bite deeply into the warg's snout. It tossed him away, retreating from the pain, and Thorin landed hard on the outcropping, knocking the breath from him.

The others couldn't reach him in time. They were close, so close, desperately trying to get there, to protect him, but many of them were still stuck hanging on for dear life, trying not to fall. Dori still clung to Gandalf's staff, his considerable strength starting to wane. 

Azog spoke to one of the lesser Orcs, Black Speech harsh in the nearly silent clearing, and it dismounted and headed for Thorin, sword in hand. It measured the stroke, first touching Thorin's throat with the sharp edge and then raising it high while Thorin desperately tried to reach Orcrist, which remained stubbornly out of his reach.

It seemed it was all over when the Orc's sword started downward -

\- and then Bilbo was there. He barreled into the Orc, tiny sword flashing, stabbing and stabbing until it was dead. Thorin barely registered the Hobbit's attack before finally losing consciousness.

Bilbo stood his ground before Azog, who considered him carefully before smiling that wicked smile once more. It was obvious the Hobbit had no idea how to wield his weapon; he slashed the air before him, defending Thorin, trying to warn off the Orcs, who continued to advance.

Shouts of fury and Dwarven battle cries filled the night as Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin slammed into the Orcs, driving them backward. Bilbo joined in with a will, helping them to slash and hack at the enemy, keeping them from Thorin until Azog's warg got too close and flung him aside. The breath was knocked out of him and he was forced to simply watch as it came closer, stunned and nearly helpless.

Dori lost his grip and fell, taking Ori with him, and Nori screamed then, a lost, anguished sound as Bofur grabbed him to keep him from falling with them. He saw something in the darkness, a winged shape, and then Dori and Ori were being carried away by a giant eagle. “They're alive, Nori, they're alive,” he kept reassuring his thief as he pointed out the bird on which they rode.

Eagles were suddenly everywhere, stooping in to attack the Orcs, fanning the flames with their wings, driving away those they could not kill. Each seemed bent on the total destruction of the Orcs, but Azog remained untouched as one of the eagles, with a clear screech of defiance, swooped down and gathered up Thorin. It held him securely in its talons as it bore him away and Azog howled with rage as another grabbed Bilbo. Still others were taking the remaining Dwarves, carrying them far, far from the scene of this horrific battle.

They flew for hours until they reached a high point in the land, a stony outcropping of a cliff. There they landed and were put down, and the birds rose into the air, giving them room. Gandalf hurried to Thorin's side, one hand just above his forehead, murmuring soft words of healing while Bilbo watched pensively and then Thorin opened his eyes.

Gandalf gave a huge sigh of relief. Thorin's voice was soft. “The Halfling?” he questioned thickly.

“It's all right,” Gandalf replied with a small smile. “Bilbo is here. He's quite safe.”

Thorin struggled to rise, Dwalin and Kíli both supporting him until he shrugged them off. Bofur stood behind, ready to assist if it became necessary, but their King seemed fairly steady on his feet. And Nori stood near his miner, his thoughts whirling madly in his head, trying to figure out what to do. But his attention was drawn, as was everyone's, by Thorin's sudden verbal attack on their Hobbit.

“You!” he snarled. Bilbo's face fell. “What were you doing?” Thorin continued angrily and Bilbo looked around for support or at least refuge from this harangue. “You almost got yourself killed.” Thorin's voice softened, but not the ire behind it. “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the Wild? That you had no place amongst us?” 

Bilbo looked completely heartbroken before Thorin lowered his voice, the words now kind and apologetic. “I have never been so wrong in all my life,” he said simply as he folded the startled Hobbit into a tight embrace.

Bilbo's arms went about him in return and they simply stood for a moment before Thorin finally set him away and looked him over for injuries. “But I'm sorry I doubted you.”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, I would have doubted me, too. I'm not a hero or a warrior. Not even a burglar.” The last was said with an arch glance to Gandalf who merely gave that tiny smile once more. Thorin was smiling, too, the expression strange to those who hadn't had much occasion to see it. Bofur clapped Nori on the back, his smile wide, and the thief again placed his hand in the miner's, seemingly uncaring for the moment that others might see. Ori stayed close behind Dwalin, offering support though he knew the big Dwarf was watching Thorin, as was his duty, though it seemed nothing could harm them in this place. It was as secure as it could be. The eagles wheeled past once more, giving a bright cry before departing and Thorin focused suddenly on something in the distance.

“Is that what I think it is?” Bilbo queried softly before Thorin moved painfully further up the rocks to stand at the top, simply staring at the mountain in the distance.

“Erebor,” Gandalf explained quietly. “The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great Dwarf Kingdoms of Middle Earth.”

Thorin's face betrayed nothing of the joy that had risen in his heart, though it was clearly felt among them. “Our home.” 

A bird chirped as it flew past and Oin spoke. “A raven! The birds are returning to the mountain.”

Gandalf shook his head. “That, my dear Oin, is a thrush.”

“But we'll take it as a sign.” Thorin glanced down to the Hobbit with a tiny smile. “A good omen.”

“You're right,” Bilbo agreed with a small secretive smile of his own. “I do believe the worst is behind us.”

Thorin collected himself, though it was still quite painful to move. “Let's get off this rock,” he said quietly, and they began the trek down to the forest floor.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to heat up and discussions are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating, y'all... been ill with the killer cold from hell. :( Anyway... here you go!
> 
> As always, dedicated to the hive for their unswerving, unwavering support and encouragement. I love you girls!

Once they were finally back on solid, hard packed earth, they set about finding some sort of shelter for the night as it had gotten a bit late in the day. Plus, they would need to camp for a time before choosing their path; all of them were injured in some fashion and would need tending. 

They had no supplies, no medicines, nothing to take the edge off pain when necessary. Oin was loudly lamenting the loss of same, though he was also bustling about in the underbrush picking leaves and scrounging up roots. 

There was a small stream close by, and as one they settled near it, wishing to wash the goblins' filth from them. Each began to shrug out of their clothes, washing them carefully and then laying them aside to wade into the water themselves.

That each was naked didn't matter much, although Bilbo was bright red, trying to keep his eyes averted, and keeping to himself. Hobbits were much more body conscious than Dwarves, it seemed, and he was uncomfortable – but determined not to show any more of what they might consider weakness.

Bofur moved aimlessly downstream a bit, not really considering a destination, just wanting a bit of privacy. He ducked under the water for a moment, coming up quickly, letting the moisture bead on his skin and run downward as he scrubbed at the filth that hadn't just sluiced off him.

“You're hurt,” Nori's voice said from behind him as warm, strong hands came to rest lightly on his shoulders. “Let me see.”

Bofur held very, very still as those skillful fingers traced a line across his back. He wanted to turn and touch, return the slight caress, but Nori set the rules between then and he didn't want to unknowingly give offense again. He didn't want to be hurt again. 

Nori gently washed out the shallow slice, his hands trembling slightly. Dead, they could all be dead, he'd thought they WOULD be dead. It was why he'd taken Bofur's hand, why he'd stayed so close. It could have been the end and he didn't want to die alone. He wanted to be with his miner when it happened.

The thought had startled him, shaken him badly. He hadn't wanted to feel anything, had wanted to stay free, able to disappear if he wanted when the quest was over. It wasn't happening that way. He wanted to be near Bofur, to care for him, to stay with him. And as a thief, that was a bad thought to have. He needed no attachments – but his heart wasn't listening.

He sighed heavily as he turned Bofur to face him, letting their foreheads rest together. “You scare me, Bofur,” he said simply. “You scare me to death. You make me feel all these things I never wanted to feel, and you ask nothing in return save that I let you love me. You don't try to make me change, you don't try to – to – I don't know how to even talk about this. I've never had to. All you've EVER asked of me was to let you love me.” He sighed again as he moved back, his hands on Bofur's waist even as the miner's came up to touch his cheek. “I don't know what I feel. But when I thought we were going to die... I didn't want to die alone. I wanted to be with you when it happened. I wanted my last breath to be with yours.”

Bofur's hands were both on Nori's face now, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks, caressing just above his beard and Nori closed his eyes against the sensation. “I was scared, too,” Bofur murmured. “I thought we were as good as dead. But when yer brothers fell... I thought ye'd go with them. Ye almost did. Ye were screaming and I almost couldn't grab ye fast enough. Please.” His voice was broken, for all it was soft. “Please don't scare me like that again. I can't – I can't lose ye. And if I die, I want it to be with ye, too.” Unvoiced was the thought of the dragon at the end of their road, and indeed the long road ahead of them. “An it's okay if ye don't know what ye feel. It's enough that yer not pushin me away any more. It's enough that ye know I love ye an that'll never change. Yer m'One, Nori. Unless ye git really, REALLY stupid, I ain't goin anywhere without ye.”

He was the one love Bofur would have in his whole life. That scared Nori more than anything else. And he was becoming pretty sure that Bofur was his. He just didn't know what to do about it, if anything. He was afraid of what he was feeling. “I'll try not to be stupid, then,” Nori said softly as he leaned forward to kiss Bofur gently. “But remember something else, please. I told you once you were mine, and I meant it. If I happen to love you, too, that's just a plus.” Had he really just said that? But it was true. 

He stepped back slightly, turning to move painfully through the water toward the bank. “Let's get your back fixed up,” he said easily. But he didn't let go of Bofur's hand, even when they were on the dry and headed back to the rough campsite. He didn't care who saw it. And that, he thought, scared him most of all.

*

Dwalin had finished washing himself clean when he noticed Ori struggling a bit. His lad was moving a bit stiffly and seemed to be in a little distress so he moved over to the bank next to him. “Here, in the water, m'lad,” he said quietly as he helped Ori off the bank and into the cool stream. “Lemme see.” He ran his hands over the boy, keeping himself under firm control, until he found nothing more than some vicious bruising around his left side. He sluiced the cool water over the bruise, listening as Ori sighed a bit as the pain eased slightly. 

Ori leaned slightly into Dwalin as the pain eased, just a bit. He was having trouble drawing a deep breath; but he didn't think it was serious. It was just a bruise.

Dwalin held him. “Ye did good, Ori, don't let anyone tell ye otherwise,” he said softly. “Yer still alive. We all are. An ye used that hammer right well, too.” He kissed Ori's hair without thinking. They were courting, he could do that; and so far, Ori hadn't objected to anything he'd done or said. If anything, he'd been a more than willing participant, though it had only been a few discreet kisses. “Just rest here, Ori. Rest.”

Ori leaned forward, then turned painfully to regard Dwalin. “Only if you let me bind up your hurts,” he said quietly. “You've a few cuts you won't be able to reach. Oh, wait, we have nothing to bandage them with, do we? Well I can at least make sure they're clean.”

Dwalin nodded slowly and moved back, letting Ori's hands move over him and struggling to maintain his composure. Ori was in no condition for a tryst, as much as he'd enjoy it. And his lad's hands were gentle, barely touching, though some of those cuts hurt like blazes when touched. But Ori was gentle, and soon enough they were clean. Dwalin turned and put both hands on Ori's waist. “You need to sit,” he rumbled as he lifted Ori onto the bank. “Just sit, Ori. Rest.”

His hands ran over his scribe again, gentle and firm. There was nothing sexual about it; but it was relaxing just the same. Ori felt a bit boneless by the time Dwalin stopped. “I'm not at all certain I can get up,” he said softly. “It does hurt a bit.”

“Aye, I'm sure it does.” Dwalin climbed out of the water then and gave Ori some much needed support to rise. “Let's get ye to camp. Maybe Oín's found something fer pain in those roots an berries he's been grabbing.”

*

Thorin had moved away from the others as well. It wasn't seemly for them to see their King at less than his best; and he was definitely worse for wear.

He had noticed the Hobbit moving away also, and wanted to check on the little one. He had taken a crushing blow from the warg and he wanted to be certain his burglar was all right. His own hurts were bad enough, but the thought of the Halfling suffering hurt him more.

The water was only waist high on him, which put it about chest level with Bilbo, and for a moment Thorin worried that the current would sweep him off his feet. Then common sense asserted itself and he almost smiled at his whimsy before schooling his expression into something appropriate. It was overshadowed by concern when he saw the bruises on the Hobbit's back.

The poor creature was bruised from his neck down as far as Thorin could see, and liberally decorated with scrapes as well. “You'll need those cleaned properly,” he said quietly, and was rewarded with a squeak of surprise from the burglar. “Peace, Bilbo,” he murmured as he moved closer to touch the scrapes and sluice water over them. “I only wish to help.”

“That's, um, that's thoughtful of you, Thorin, but I can manage,” Bilbo replied a bit breathlessly. He was well aware that the Dwarf was as naked as he was, under the water. And those big hands, they were quite gentle, and quite thorough. Each scrape was bathed carefully, easing the gravel and dirt from them without causing a lot of pain. “I should say thank you, I think,” Bilbo finally said as he turned and moved away a little bit again. Then he got a good look at Thorin's torso and groaned slightly. “No, what I should do is return the favor. You look awful. It has to hurt.”

Beneath the dark hair matting his chest, Thorin was badly hurt. Nothing life threatening, but bruises blossomed along his ribcage and there were punctures where the warg had bitten through his brigandine. The place on his chest where Azog's mace had landed was purple and fresh blood was showing through where the water had loosened the scabs. Bilbo was horrified. How was he even on his feet?

“Just a bit.” Thorin's voice was dry. But what was it about Bilbo that made him speak when he should have remained silent? His people shouldn't be worrying about him. He should be worrying about them instead. 

“Well, then, come here.” Bilbo moved closer and ran his hands over the worst of them, cleaning them as gently as he could, knowing he was causing a bit of pain but unable to avoid it. Who knew what that warg had been chewing on before it got hold of Thorin. “That looks better. But you should let Oin wrap them up when we find something to use for bandages.” He shook his head and started to move back again. 

Thorin caught at his hand, holding it firmly. “Why do you run from me?” he asked softly. “I wouldn't hurt you.”

“No, I'm sure you wouldn't,” Bilbo replied with a strange look. “But we're – we're naked, and you're hurt, and... and... oh, bother.” But he stopped trying to back up, even if he didn't look directly at Thorin. “We should get back. The others -”

“Can manage quite well on their own for a time,” Thorin said firmly. “I need to apologize for my treatment of you.”

“And do Dwarves usually apologize while naked in the middle of a river?” Bilbo blushed after he'd said it. Why was he so obsessed with the idea of them being naked? 

Thorin gave a sigh of exasperation. “Not usually, no. But we DO apologize when we've been horribly, horribly wrong, wherever we might be at the time. And this is the first time we've been alone long enough since the Carrock.” He moved closer, letting go of the Hobbit's hand to touch his cheek gently. “I have treated you unforgivably since first you joined us, and I would make that right if I can.”

“Well, if it was unforgivable, then how can I forgive you?” the Halfling replied pertly and then blushed more. “But of course you're forgiven. Because I'm not any of those things, like I said before. I'm just a Hobbit.” A Hobbit with a problem, now. Being so close to the Dwarf was having an unfortunate effect on him. He'd thought Thorin attractive since the start, but his abuse had kept Bilbo safe from acting on it. With Thorin being so agreeable, it was getting harder and harder to remain apart. And that hand on his cheek... he was in trouble.

“I cannot think of you as 'just' anything, Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin said softly as he continued to rub his thumb across the Hobbit's smooth, soft cheek. “Gandalf is right. There is much more to you than what we've seen.” His other hand came up as well, giving Bilbo's other cheek the same treatment, and he saw the burglar's eyes close in something very close to bliss. If such a simple touch could cause that reaction, what more would he see from a kiss? And he very much thought he'd like to kiss Bilbo.

Bilbo was lost. He knew he shouldn't; Thorin was a King and Bilbo was just a Hobbit. But he didn't seem to care. But those fingers against his cheek, the thumbs rubbing circles there, made him lean in closer to Thorin, his hands finding their way to that chest, which rumbled in pleasure as he stroked the hair there lightly. His eyes remained closed, enjoying the sensations caused by rough callouses against his sensitive skin, and then there was a subtle pressure against his lips. He gasped in surprise as his eyes flew open and Thorin's tongue swept into his mouth, teasing his own, and he groaned at the sensation.

Thorin set him back reluctantly as he ended the kiss. “As much as I want to continue this, master burglar, I don't think this is the time or place.” He drew his hands along Bilbo's back and was rewarded with a hiss of discomfort, as well as keenly feeling his own hurts. If he, a trained warrior, was stiff and sore, how much more so was Bilbo? 

Bilbo drew back, searching his face, and then nodded slowly. He turned to leave, trying to hide the hurt in his face.

Thorin turned him back. “I'm not turning you away,” he said softly. “I couldn't. But you're hurt, as am I. It would be – unpleasant – at the moment, I think, and I don't want that for you. You deserve soft sheets, a warm bed, and the time to thoroughly enjoy the act. You deserve better than a quick tumble in the woods.”

“Of course you aren't,” Bilbo murmured back, but he wouldn't meet Thorin's eyes. “But we should let Oin look you over. Those bites look awful.” And this time, when he turned to leave, Thorin didn't stop him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short, sorry.
> 
> For the Hive, as always... and for all those who have written kudos, sent me private email, left comments of any sort... I love you guys! Thank you!
> 
> I'm taking a few liberties with the timeline. Bit of a mix of book and movie canon... with a lot of my own head!canon thrown in here *LOL* Hope y'all continue to enjoy!

Oin had a look over all of them, smearing something vaguely plant smelling over each cut and bite mark. Thorin huffed slightly when the healer got to him, but he knew better than to refuse. The chance for infection was too great. And Orcs had been known to use poison on their weapons, which was another concern. They had nothing with which to treat something like that.

“Just a bit of mashed up leaves, ain't it?” Bofur remarked idly from where he sat next to Nori. “Oin, what is this stuff? It smells disgusting.”

“Then don't smell it.” Oin was grumpy. So many injuries that he couldn't really treat. He could use the leaves he'd found to stave off infection, but he couldn't really promote healing, and some of those wounds were horrific. Thorin's, especially. Warg bites were bloody serious. He didn't even have a pot to make tea in. There was plenty of willow bark nearby, and if nothing else, they could chew bits of it to get relief from pain, and that was something. He passed out small pieces of the stuff. “If this isn't enough, tell me,” he said gruffly. He was well aware that some of them were bad off. Ori didn't seem as if he'd move at all if he didn't have to.

“We all need rest,” Thorin announced quietly. “We can move on in the morning. Bofur, take the first watch, then wake Dori. Dori will wake me.” There was no room for argument; Thorin had made his own assessment of who was least damaged by their fight and set the watch accordingly.

There was of course a rumble of dissent from Dwalin, insisting he could take his turn at watch, but Thorin silenced him with a glare and he subsided with poor grace. Ori put a hand on his arm and Dwalin helped him up, going to a bare spot a little ways away where he let the boy lie down and sat down next to him. Fíli and Kíli had already fallen asleep where they were propped up against their respective trees, looking uncomfortable and pain-filled. Fíli had a deep gash across his chest and Kíli had taken a blow that laid open his entire arm; but they still breathed, and for that, Thorin was thankful. Each of the others again came under his scrutiny and he cataloged each individual wound and scrape, laying them firmly at his own doorstep. Loyalty, honor, and a willing heart, he had said, and he had meant it. He would take this group over any army from the Iron Hills. These few would willingly die in his cause, and it humbled him a bit because he knew that was what he was asking. They had nearly died many times over already, and they had yet to face the dragon.

Bilbo came up and sat beside him, silent, and he felt rather than saw the rest begin to settle down. Bofur and Nori remained awake on the other side of the fire they'd finally gotten going, Bofur on watch and Nori sitting painfully next to him, one leg held out stiffly before him. It wasn't broken, Oin had decided, but it had been badly wrenched during his near fall from the tree and it was going to take a few days before it was comfortable to move it.

“You should rest, too,” the Hobbit said quietly without looking at Thorin. “You're hurt just as badly as they are, a lot worse, really. You need to sleep if you're going to stand watch in a few hours.”

Thorin nodded but didn't move from his seat. “I wouldn't be able to sleep,” he said softly. “Look around you, Bilbo.” Again he had called the Hobbit by name and the thought gave him pause. He had been calling the little one anything but in an attempt to keep himself apart, aloof, and it was no longer working. “These few are all who answered my call to march on the mountain. You have heard this, but I think you need to hear it again. These Dwarves are the only ones willing to follow me to reclaim our home. It is a hopeless, mad cause with so few – but still they follow. They follow because they have faith in me – and I feel that faith is sorely misplaced, now. We cannot succeed, just we bare few. And yet, I cannot turn aside. I cannot forgo vengeance on the dragon, I cannot turn away from trying to reclaim our home. I made a vow to these Dwarves, to my kin, that I would see our home restored. And I cannot expect them to honor their promises to me if I do not honor mine to them.” He sighed heavily. “And so it goes. We will continue this mad quest until the last of us lies dead upon the field. And if by some chance we succeed, I will have kept my vow to them – and to you.”

If there was one thing Bilbo was beginning to understand about Thorin Oakenshield, it was his sense of honor and duty. “Listen to me,” he began slowly. “These Dwarves – they have faith in you, you said it yourself. I don't think they're wrong.” He saw Thorin's face cloud up and tried to head him off. “They're not stupid, Thorin! They know by now what's waiting for them at the end of this. ~I~ know what's waiting. And I'm the one facing the dragon first, if you'd forgotten.” One small hand moved up to touch Thorin's face. “They believe in you because they should. You've kept them – US – you've kept us alive this far and that's not been easy. I think if ANYONE can make this quest succeed, it's you.”

“I think you give me far too much credit, little one,” Thorin murmured. “It was not I who saved us from the trolls, nor truly from the goblins.” But he couldn't turn away from that gentle, soft touch. One hand strayed upward to hold Bilbo's in place.

“No, I don't. And if you'd just listen, you'd know it.” Bilbo was just being sassy, now. “Gandalf isn't the one they were calling for on that tree. Gandalf isn't the one they were following through those tunnels and across those catwalks. Yes, I know all about it even though I wasn't there. I was in a different part of the place, and I won't talk about that right now.” He didn't know if he ever would. “It's part of how I got away, I will say that. But that's not the point. YOU are the one they fussed over. YOU are the one they followed. If Gandalf had showed up and you weren't there, or if you'd been wounded to where you couldn't be moved... they would have died with you. Because – because they trust you. They trust you to keep them safe and alive. They love you.”

“And you, Bilbo? Why do you follow?” He had to know. “I have treated you badly since first I walked in your door, and still you joined us. Still you stay. I know that you almost left in the cave, and I know why. And yet... you came back. Even after hearing my harsh words on that mountainside, you came back. You stated your intent to help us in this madness. Why?”

“I said it before, you bloody great idiot,” Bilbo was just short of stamping his foot, but suddenly he softened. “I can think of nothing worse than losing my home, of losing everything dear to me save my family, and believe me they're not very much to be proud of. I cannot begin to understand how you felt when the dragon came, nor how it's been to live on the road, never belonging anywhere, depending on others for food and shelter. But I know it's been horrible, and it's why you are so driven to reclaim your home. And I will help you if I can, because I don't want you to have to live that way any more. It's a horrible, horrible existence and not one I want for you.”

Thorin was shocked. That the Hobbit felt so keenly THEIR loss he had never expected. And there was no doubt that he meant what he said. He took Bilbo's hand from his face, but only long enough to lace their fingers together. He was unable to speak for several long moments. “But still we wander,” he said finally. “This journey is one more long ramble in a series of them.”

“But there's a clear destination at the end of this one, and that makes a difference,” Bilbo argued. Why wouldn't this stubborn Dwarf see what he was trying to say? “You're going home. Doesn't it feel different, knowing that?”

It did. Understanding finally broke over him and Thorin sighed. “It seems you know us quite well,” he said softly.

“Not as well as I should, having been with you this long,” Bilbo replied with a small smile. He ducked his eyes then, aware that his words could be construed in a very different way than what he intended... and not really minding.

“Perhaps we might change that,” Thorin said softly as he leaned in. He kissed Bilbo again, soft and tender, and the Hobbit responded to him, twining both arms around him and holding him tightly. With a groan, Thorin deepened his kiss, letting his hands run over the burglar, wanting nothing more than to lay him down and make love to him right there, but he knew better. He drew back slightly, watching Bilbo's face, searching.

Bilbo was smiling as he rested his forehead against Thorin's, a trait he had picked up on from the others. He rather thought it might show affection, since they all did it within their little groups. Which, of course, reminded him that they weren't alone. He groaned and sat back. 

“Unless you're willing to finish this, best we don't get started,” he said quietly, his voice a bit ragged. “I believe you said something about a bed.” That it might not happen for a long time, if ever, Bilbo knew, but he wouldn't push Thorin. “And you still need to rest before your watch.”

“Indeed I did.” Thorin's voice was soft but rough. “Fine. I will rest, but I doubt I sleep.” 

He withdrew a ways away, lying himself down beneath a tree, and Bilbo followed. “We might not be able to do what we want, but I can at least stay with you while you rest,” he said simply. “Unless, unless you don't want me to.” Sudden doubt flared in his mind. Would being too close cause Thorin some distress? He certainly didn't want that. 

For answer, Thorin pulled him down and held him close, spooned up behind the startled but pleased Hobbit. “That would be fine,” he murmured in Bilbo's ear.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company reaches Beorn's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all make me smile. Thank you for liking this piece! This bit is more of a meld of book and movie canon, which is going to happen a lot more often now. I'm excited for this! Enjoy!

When Dori went to wake Thorin, he found them curled up together, Thorin wrapped protectively around the Hobbit and both of them sound asleep. He knelt down beside them, one hand reaching out to lightly touch Thorin's shoulder. He'd need no more than that; Thorin was nothing if not a light sleeper. It came from being so wary for so long.

Thorin opened his eyes and gave a small nod before carefully and gently detaching himself from a very reluctant burglar. Bilbo shifted slightly, trying to hold on, before curling back up and falling deeper into sleep again. Thorin drew Dori a bit away so not to wake him.

“No trouble?” he asked softly. 

“None.” Dori's voice was hushed but there was something in it Thorin didn't like. 

Thorin sighed. Dori mothered them all, and he could see this coming. “Speak, Dori.” He could see the discomfort in the other Dwarf's eyes and wanted to find out what the problem was. That there was one, he didn't question.

“It isn't quite proper, is it?” Dori asked softly with a meaningful glance at the sleeping Halfling.

“Peace, Dori.” Thorin's voice was brisk but kind. “It is, what it is. Propriety doesn't enter into this.” 

Dori nodded and left him to his watch, obviously still concerned but unwilling to risk Thorin's wrath if he pushed the issue. Thorin settled himself near the fire, thinking, but alert to any sound of danger. 

He watched each of his people in turn. Every last one of them had been injured in some fashion, and it was his responsibility to make certain they had time to heal properly if at all possible. So that meant a day or two in this place in order for them to be able to travel.

With that decision made, he scanned the tree line carefully, but saw nothing of interest. All was quiet. Perhaps this would be a good idea. It was only practical, to be certain. Nori couldn't walk on that leg. He'd walked from the stream, but not under his own power. Bofur had half carried him while trying to seem like he was only offering a little support. And poor Ori. His nephews, as well, were badly hurt.

But it was Bilbo who finally decided the issue for him. The poor burglar was bruised from the neck down and it would undoubtedly make it difficult for him to move after resting. He'd be stiff and more than sore.

A week ago, he'd have been furious at having to delay the journey due to the Hobbit. Now? Now he was more than willing to do so. A week ago, Bilbo hadn't proven his worth to Thorin's satisfaction. 

No, a few days spent here would be beneficial. Someone could hunt if possible, and they'd cook it over the fire they'd been able to make. Water was available at the stream, though they had nothing to transport it in. But they weren't far enough away from it to make getting a drink difficult. 

Dawn was breaking, but he didn't rouse anyone. The rest would do them good. 

Who of them was hurt least? He thought he could perhaps get a rabbit or two, if they wandered close, but it would take far more than that to feed them, especially for more than one meal. A deer, perhaps. Kíli would be the obvious choice, but he was out of the question. It took two arms to wield his bow and the one was laid open nearly to the bone. It needed stitching but they'd nothing to stitch with.

Dwalin could hunt. He was cut and bruised and looked positively awful, but he was at least used to it. The big Dwarf had endured far worse than this. 

He had started to rise when the warrior rolled over and sat up. Thorin quickly sat back down, resting his own hurts. It was hard enough to move, as stiff and sore as he was, though he would let no one know how badly it did hurt. “Dwalin, good,” he greeted the other. “When you've woken some, we need some meat. See what you can hunt.”

Dwalin nodded and immediately rose, taking his axes and heading into the trees. 

Bofur and Nori were still across the fire from where Thorin sat, curled up together. Thorin shook his head; he'd not thought the thief the sort to let anyone get that close to him. Bofur was mumbling quietly in his sleep, and then he sat up, rubbing his eyes and glancing over to Thorin. His movements were cautious and stiff. “I'll get some wood fer the fire,” he mumbled as he rose. 

*

The next two days were spent in a similar fashion. They would all rise, find food, and then be completely bored unless someone could find an amusement. Sometimes it was Bilbo, singing outrageous Shirefolk drinking songs. Other times it was Bofur's flute, or Thorin's voice raised in song. But by the third day, all of them were ready to move on.

Even Nori, with his strained knee, was ready to go. It would hurt, but he was bored. They all were.

Gandalf had returned once more and had apparently found a place nearby they could go to rest and recover the rest of the way. There would be food, and beds, and medicines. They would be well cared for. The catch was that they could kill nothing inside a certain boundary; the Man they were going to see wouldn't have it. So there would be no meat.

The Dwarves grumbled loudly at this but subsided quickly. The thought of food they didn't have to catch was pretty appealing after the last few days, really. So they followed the wizard's direction and once they were inside Beorn's house, they were served honey cakes and mead and much merriment was found. They were safe, for the time being.

Medicines and bandages, needles and treated thread were provided and Oin went to work, assisted by the Hobbit. Kíli was first; his injury was by far the worst. The cut was long and deep, starting at his shoulder and running down almost to the elbow. It would heal, Oin knew, but it was going to take some time before it was ready to use again. 

Each was stitched, salved, bandaged, and given a draught for pain. Last came Thorin, and he insisted on the privacy of the room he'd been given. He still had no wish for anyone save Oin and Bilbo to see just how badly he'd been mauled. Oin, because he had to treat the vicious wounds, and Bilbo because he already knew. 

Some of the bite marks were swollen and angry red, and Oin fussed over them for a long while, even going so far as to poke at them with the point of his knife, trying to be certain they were properly drained and then packed them with herbs to fight infection. 

By the time the healer was finished with him, Thorin was white, though no sound had left his lips. Bilbo ushered Oin out and went to Thorin, his kind eyes full of concern. “You need to drink this,” he said quietly as he helped the Dwarf to hold the cup. Thorin was obviously in agony after Oin's ministrations and Bilbo was only too glad to help him.

Thorin knew what it was but it still disturbed him. “Poppy juice,” he growled as he finished it. “It will make me sleep, Bilbo, but I would have you near, if you please.” He was asking, not demanding, and Bilbo nodded quickly. He wouldn't mind being held again. It had made him feel safe, and cherished, and a few more things he didn't have the words for yet. 

They had all been warned not to venture out of the house after dark, but Thorin didn't think that was going to be a problem at least not this night. Oin had a heavy hand with his poppy juice and most if not all the Dwarves would be dead to the world until morning from it. Including him. He felt himself slipping downward into sleep and reached out, bringing Bilbo close to him again. It gave him peace to hold his burglar, and he needed a little peace. Then he was asleep and thought no more until morning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little downtime at Beorn's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so evil... 
> 
> Just a reminder, this is all obviously AU... and a mix of book and movie canon. 
> 
> Hope y'all continue to enjoy this, I'm flattered by the attention, really!

Nori woke first, leg held stiffly out on the bed, propped up on some soft fluffy pillows, and for a moment he couldn't remember where he was. Then it all flooded back and he started to get up. Where was Bofur? They'd seldom been out of each other's sight for several days and he was concerned.

He needn't have been. His miner was sleeping in a chair next to the bed, head propped on one hand and slouched down as far as he could comfortably get without sliding completely out and onto the floor. “Bofur,” he called quietly. “Bofur. Wake up.” 

Bofur stirred and then opened his eyes, which brought a smile to his face when he saw Nori awake. “Mornin, luv,” he said easily as he straightened and gave a hiss of discomfort. “How's the leg?”

“Don't worry about my leg,” Nori replied with a growl. “Why didn't you sleep in the bed? There was room.” He knew Bofur loved him, he'd said it often enough and showed it more, but something was wrong if he wasn't willing to sleep close. They'd been very close to each other since the mountainside and to wake up without his lover had been unsettling to say the least. 

Bofur was startled but covered it quickly. “Didn't want t'hurt ye, is all.” He slid in next to Nori as quickly as he could with his back so stiff. “Ye were pretty wrecked last night after all that walkin we did.” He didn't mention that he'd done most of the work, supporting his love as much as he could. It didn't matter to him. He was glad to do it. “Better?”

“Much.” Nori wouldn't apologize for his gruff words, though. Bofur knew how he was, and still loved him. He wrapped his arms around his miner and just held him close for several minutes. “Lean up,” he said finally as he tapped Bofur's shoulder. He had an idea. It would be touchy; Bofur might take it the wrong way. It wasn't as if he was courting his miner or anything. He just wanted to fix those braids, make his love a bit more presentable. 

Bofur went very still when Nori's hands touched his hair. He knew the thief enjoyed the feel of it; whenever they were together, he had at least one hand on it or more likely tangled into it, holding on. But this was unexpected. Nori's nimble fingers teased the braids loose, working gently through the tangles and snarls to leave it loose around Bofur's shoulders for a moment. 

Nori rummaged in one of his many pockets and came out with exactly what he wanted. Then his fingers were back in Bofur's hair, working it back into the three braids his love preferred, one on each side and one in the back. But they were tidier now, lovingly worked, a bit more intricate than the simple plait Bofur had used; and each one was secured with a clasp of wrought silver, carefully engraved with various intricate designs. He wouldn't have his Bofur wandering around with braids secured with strands of his own hair. It didn't look right. Besides, even if it WASN'T a courting gesture, it would let others know that he had a claim on the miner and to stay away.

Bofur nearly held his breath. Nori hadn't just done this, he hadn't. He wasn't courting Bofur. It wasn't possible. No, he argued with himself, it might not be courting but Nori had claimed him pretty openly the last few days, seldom being far away and being pretty possessive at night. And this showed his claim quite well. So even if it wasn't courting, Nori was opening up. There was still hope of having his thief's heart eventually. And even if he never did, not completely, he'd be content. 

He felt Nori's fingers on his shoulders, rubbing gently. He sighed and relaxed into the sensation, enjoying it immensely. The stiffness in his back was easing with each stroke and he felt like a contented cat. He thought that if he could purr, he just might. It felt good, soothing, gentle, tender, and most of all, loving. It didn't matter to him if Nori ever said the words. He might've, in the stream, but they hadn't been completely clear and Bofur didn't care. His thief showed him in the little gestures and movements he made that he considered Bofur his, and that was all that mattered.

He relaxed back against Nori, enjoying the feel of it as those talented fingers made short work of the tension in his back and crept around to the front, kneading and flexing and in general making short work of Bofur's tunic laces and dipping inside to touch bare skin. Bofur shivered slightly and gave a hoarse moan as his head fell back against the thief's shoulder. Nori knew just where to touch to get the best reaction and he used that knowledge mercilessly. And Nori's words in his ear, Mahal above, they were so softly spoken, so sensual, he wanted to just wrap himself in that velvet voice and let Nori do anything he wanted. The things he was promising were so decadent that it gave him shivers. Then he was able to focus a bit more.

“Let go, 'fur,” Nori murmured as he nibbled on Bofur's neck and ran his hands down lower, touching him and stroking lightly. “Let go. I've got you. I won't let you go, not ever. You're mine, for always. So let go. Let go and let me love you.”

That was all it took. Bofur cried out, reaching back to hold Nori close to him, bucking upward as he came explosively. It hadn't taken much – just Nori's touch on him and those words, spoken just where he could hear them, Nori's promise to love him. 

He fell back against Nori again, panting and gasping for air, and feeling Nori's arms wrap around him and hold him close. He felt the thief's heartbeat against him, strong and steady. “You didn't sleep well, not in that chair,” Nori murmured as he held Bofur close. “Just rest, now. Rest, 'fur. I've got you.”

Bofur slept, cradled in his lover's arms, sated and content.

(Elsewhere in the house)

Dwalin uncurled himself from around Ori's sleeping form and rose, going stiffly to the window and looking out. Daylight. So the restriction was no longer restricting – but he found he didn't want to leave this room, not really.

Ori had helped Oin to tend his wounds last night and he hadn't realized there were quite so many. Oh, he'd been stiff, sore, and there were places that hurt more than he thought they should. But he hadn't expected any of them to need stitching. 

Ori had been his strength then, in ways he hadn't imagined the lad could be. He'd held Dwalin's hands, though Dwalin was sure he'd nearly broken Ori's with his grip when the pain became too intense. Even Oin's chosen poppy juice hadn't drowned the pain while the healer stitched. And Ori had soothed him, spoken softly to him, choosing soft love words to try and distract him from what Oin was doing. For the most part, it worked, but still the pain was intense. And when it was finally over, Ori had made sure he was as comfortable as he could be, covering him lightly with the sheet and then allowing Oin to look him over as well. 

Dwalin had watched, quite relaxed and unable to move due to the medicine, as Oin ran his experienced hands over HIS Ori, trying not to be jealous and failing miserably. However, when the healer pronounced Ori's bruising was no more than that, he breathed a sigh of relief. It could have been so much worse, broken ribs at the least.

But what had surprised him most was Ori then crawling into the bed with him, stating his intention to remain with Dwalin overnight. It touched him that the boy was willing to court his brother's wrath simply to guard Dwalin's dreams. It touched something deep inside him, and he once more blessed his decision to court Ori. There was strength in him, passion, and courage that no one else gave him credit for. 

Dwalin knew better, especially now. Ori had held his own in the goblin tunnels, and taken a hefty hurt from it. That he was able to move at all was a testament to his strength.

And the lad was his. Ori was his. Even if they were just courting, it was obvious that Ori wanted to be with him, to stay with him. He'd stayed the night before, just to give him comfort in his pain. That kind of devotion was something he had never looked for, never expected to find.

It was rather humbling.

Ori murmured softly and Dwalin went back to sit on the side of the bed, settling close and putting a gentle hand on his back. “Easy, lad,” he said softly.

Ori came up with a strangled scream, nearly pitching off the bed completely before realizing Dwalin was keeping him from it. The warrior's arms had gone around him quickly when it seemed he would fall, holding him tightly and trying to reassure him. Finally he was able to get a little sense out of the scribe, once he'd woken up just a bit more, and he tightened his grip slightly.

“I thought I'd lost you,” Ori was babbling as he clung to his love. “The goblins, they had us, they were going to kill us, I couldn't get to you, and then we were outside, and – and – and the Orcs -”

“Easy, lad,” Dwalin rumbled quietly. He kissed Ori's hair before tipping his face up. “It'll take more than a few Orcs t'take me from ye. I was more afraid o' losing YOU, ye daft bugger.” He pressed a gentle kiss on Ori's lips, intending to reassure him a bit more. 

Ori sighed softly and returned the kiss, then pulled back slightly and rose to go to his clothing. “I've something I want to show you,” he said softly as he pulled out his journal. He flipped to the back and took out a couple of pieces of parchment, holding them close for a moment before crossing back to the bed and settling down, simply handing them to Dwalin and then waiting to see what his reaction was.

Dwalin didn't even ask about the journal. He knew Ori never let it out of his sight so it stood to reason he'd have kept it close enough not to lose it along with the rest of their things. Then he saw the first sketch, really saw it, and it almost took his breath away.

This was how Ori saw him? The picture almost seemed to breathe, but it wasn't how he perceived himself. There was something in the face, in the eyes, that spoke of gentle feelings and good humor. Things he would never have associated with the fierceness he had cultivated. He'd considered himself rude and crude, though he had a proper upbringing. Balin had seen to that. He was well educated, versed in law and history, and still he thought of himself as nothing more than a warrior. 

Ori saw him as much, much more.

Reluctantly he laid that portrait aside and glanced at the other. And then took a closer look. 

It was a thing of beauty, and CERTAINLY not what he saw when he looked in a mirror. It had been drawn during one of his practice sessions. His axes, Grasper and Keeper, were prominent as was the rest of his arsenal, but his face, his face was different. There was ferocity there, as befit a warrior, but also intelligence, cunning, and under it all a sense of necessity. It called forth the idea that his violence was only undertaken because there was no other choice, and that he regretted it when he had to call upon it.

It was him, right down to the scars that Ori had faithfully placed into the drawing, the tattoos that showed clearly on every inch of his exposed skin, also rendered into the ink of this sketch.

Ori was watching him closely, trying to get some feel of how Dwalin felt about them. They were the best ones he'd done, and he'd wanted to share them with his love, to let the other know EXACTLY how he felt. Now, he wasn't so sure he should have. Dwalin looked – well, he looked SHOCKED, like he hadn't expected anything even remotely approaching what he saw. Hadn't he liked them? They were well rendered, and they reflected what Ori saw in him. Had he been wrong? Weren't they a true representation? He saw all those things, and he loved each and every one of them.

Dwalin finally looked up at him and Ori was startled to see his eyes were overly bright. “Ye really see me like this?” he asked quietly. “Ori, lad...”

The wonder in his voice let Ori know everything was all right. He sat back down next to his love and put his arms around the warrior, holding him close and resting his head on Dwalin's shoulder. “Yes, that's how I see you. Kind, gentle, but fiercely devoted to Thorin and his nephews. You don't fight when you don't have to. And even when you DO fight, you try to make it quick. Oh, I'm putting this badly, but yes, it's how I see you. Courage, honor, kindness, devotion... all of it. And I'm flattered that you chose me to court. That you chose me to be part of your life.”

Dwalin pulled the boy across his lap, mindful of the bruises, and kissed him deeply. His hands moved over his scribe, committing the feel of him to memory, learning each spot that made him sigh, and moan, and squirm, before finally breaking the kiss and staring down at him. “Much as I'd like t'finish this, Ori, I can't,” he murmured as he rested his forehead against Ori's. “We're both too hurt right now t'really enjoy it, an I want it t'be somethin special fer ye. Give it a couple days an then I'll love ye somethin fierce. But ye need t'heal a bit first.”

Ori nodded in defeat. Then there was a sudden panic in his eyes. “Dori. He's going to kill both of us. He already thinks we're moving too fast. That I spent the night here-”

“Let me handle yer brother,” Dwalin said firmly as he helped the lad to sit back up and smiled slightly. “Right now, let's find some food.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad y'all are still enjoying this! 
> 
> For the Hive, because reasons. :)

All of them had finally emerged from their beds by lunch, gathering around the huge table as a group and enjoying the food, though it was served by sheep and dogs. Of Beorn, there was no sign.

That suited Bilbo. He was tired of the “little bunny” remarks. And the food was good, hot, satisfying, and quite able to be tossed across the table if the mood struck. Which it did, and often, with all of them trying to land something in Bombur's mouth. Even Bilbo took a turn, missing by a fair distance but still managing to bring a laugh from everyone. 

The Dwarves, to a one, seemed to be amazed at how well the little burglar was now accepting their behavior. He had seemed such a fussy little thing at first, and now he was settling into their ways.

Bofur, of course, won the tossing match and everyone laughed uproariously. And everyone had noticed the neat, tidy way his hair was done, the silver clasps, and suddenly Bifur was signing furiously at Bofur, who rose and went outside followed quickly by the toymaker.

“Slow down!” Bofur exclaimed when Bifur spun him in place and started signing again. What few words he had seemed to have deserted him completely and he was relying on the iglishmek for communication. “What are you on about, then?”

::You shouldn't be with him.:: Bifur's face reflected his shock and his hands indicated the clasps on Bofur's now neat and tidy braids. ::He's not decent folk.::

“Nori? How kin ye say that?” Bofur was a bit confused. He'd been taking care of both Bifur and Bombur for some time, and to have his cousin start in like this was unusual to say the least. 

::He's a thief. Not trustworthy. He'll use you and leave.:: Bifur's signs were deliberate, as though he wanted no misunderstandings between them. 

“No. He won't.” Bofur didn't know how to explain it. “He's honorable, in his own way. Yeah, he's a thief. But he's – I don't know how t'make ye understand.”

::Try.::

Bofur considered carefully. He didn't want to upset his kin any more than they already were. He knew Bombur was upset as well; but he'd never say anything himself. Not to Bofur, who'd risked everything to keep them fed and housed for a long time. His brother didn't feel it was his place. But he would have said something to Bifur, and that would have sent his cousin into this state.

“It's – complicated,” he said finally. “But he's not like ye think. He's steady an he's true. He keeps his word. An he's here, on this quest, which should say somethin.” Bofur considered for a moment more before playing his last trick. “An he's m'One, Bifur. I can't change that, no more'n I could fly.”

Bifur nodded silently before looking down, obviously thinking. ::You have such a big heart. It makes you always think the best of people. Are you sure that's not what's happening here? How can you trust him?::

“B'cause he's never lied t'me. He's kept his word t'me. He's kept his word t'Thorin.” Nori had told him why he'd come on the quest, why he had answered Thorin's call. “He stole stuff from me t'start with, sure. But he gave it back, too. It was just a game with him. An he hasn't stolen anythin from anyone else in the Company. An if it's courage ye think he lacks, ye should really think agin. He fought just as hard as the rest o' us in those goblin tunnels, an he is bloody fierce about protectin Ori.” 

::You said he's your One.:: Bifur shook his head. ::I hear what you are saying to me. I hear your reasons. But what I don't hear is how you FEEL.::

“What do ye want me t'say, Bif?” Bofur's voice was harsh. “I'd die fer him. An he'd die fer me. That's all that matters t'me.”

::Then there is nothing more to say, except to wish you well.:: Bifur smiled at him then, a bit sadly, but a smile nonetheless. ::You love him. That's enough. But if he hurts you, I will hurt him. Badly.:: He clapped Bofur on the shoulder and they went back inside. 

*

Bilbo waylaid Thorin that night after they'd had the evening meal, heading off the Dwarf before he could disappear up the stairs and lock his door to suffer in silence. “You need your dressings changed,” he said simply as he planted himself firmly in Thorin's path and refused to budge. “And I know for a fact you won't allow anyone else to do it. You've even been avoiding Oín, and he's seen them as well as I have. So, your Majesty, I'm going to change them for you, whether you like it or not.”

Thorin blinked. Then he scowled. “I am perfectly capable of changing my own bandages, Master Hobbit, and I'll thank you to remember it,” he growled as he attempted to shrug past the startled burglar. Bilbo, however, was having none of it.

He planted both feet and put his hands on his hips, glaring at Thorin with thinly veiled fury. “I'm quite sure you can, Thorin Oakenshield, but you made a promise to me and I intend to see you keep it.” He put a gentle hand on Thorin's chest, oblivious to the stares of the others where they sat at the table. “And unless you want me to noise that promise about,” he said softly, “then you will do as I say and let me do this for you.”

The scowl darkened until Thorin remembered exactly what that promise was and he sighed. “Very well, since you insist. Come along then.” And he headed up the stairs, followed by a very pleased Halfling.

Bilbo had expected a bit more resistance, to be honest. Thorin was nothing if not stubborn, and he was completely set on keeping the truth of his injuries from the others. The idiot wasn't stopping to consider that they had ALL seen how badly he'd been mauled firsthand. It just hadn't occurred to him. But once they were inside Thorin's room with the door closed firmly behind them, he understood.

Thorin had hold of him, pulling him close to kiss him gently. “I had not forgotten that oath, Bilbo, believe me,” he said quietly when they parted. “I believe I promised you soft sheets, a warm bed, and time. Tending my injuries doesn't quite fit into that.”

“Not quite, no, but it ensures that we will have them soon enough,” Bilbo countered softly as he began plucking at the laces of Thorin's tunic. “We have them all right now, but not the ability to use them,” he stated practically as he worked the garment over the Dwarf's head, mindful of those horrid bruises and bites. “Those look positively agonizing and I'll not have it said a Baggins didn't care for his lover's comfort.” His eyes flew upward again to Thorin's face and he colored. “Well, that's – I mean, if – oh, dear.”

Thorin chuckled quietly as he rested his forehead against Bilbo's. “Peace, Halfling, it WILL happen,” he said softly. “If not now, then soon. But I believe you wished to tend these first.” He stepped back regretfully and gestured to the bandages around his chest.

Bilbo nodded and went to the table where Oín had thoughtfully left medical supplies. Thorin's voice, when pitched that low, sent chills down his spine. “Then let's get those changed, shall we? Because I've plans for you.” But when he turned back, he had to catch his breath.

Thorin sat on the side of the bed, shirtless as Bilbo had left him, and he'd removed the old bandages without complaint though Bilbo was suddenly certain he'd had to pry some of them loose. His wounds were visibly improved, though there was still a bit of seepage from a couple of the bites. It would have made the cloth stick a bit and was undoubtedly painful to pull them free. But Thorin had said nothing.

That wasn't what made him breathless, though. It was the sight of Thorin, shirtless, patiently waiting for HIM. It was the sight of that broad expanse of skin, covered with dark hair, weathered and scarred and still beautiful. Muscles played just under the surface, rippling with each breath, and Bilbo was quite simply spellbound.

He pulled himself back to his task with some effort. He had to make an effort to settle his breathing, especially after he touched that skin. It was deceptively soft and he had to steel himself to be able to use the salve Oin had left and cover it up with the bandages. It seemed a shame to cover such a beautiful thing, truly, and he couldn't resist dropping a soft kiss just above Thorin's heart.

Thorin gasped in surprise before hauling Bilbo up, pulling the startled Hobbit across his lap and kissing him soundly. Bilbo, in turn, moved upward to straddle Thorin's hips, responding to the kiss and working his hands into that mane of dark hair, gently massaging the scalp even as he pressed himself eagerly against his Dwarf. Thorin pulled back reluctantly, trying to control his own breathing, and rested his forehead against Bilbo's. 

“Always you surprise me,” he murmured without opening his eyes. “No one, not lovers, not friends, no one has ever touched my heart the way you have. No one has ever come to me as you have, willing to argue with me, shout at me, demand from me, without a thought for my station or what I could bring to them. No one – NO ONE – has ever loved me as you do. And that you love me, I have no doubt. Your kiss upon my heart – it is branded into my soul. And I will try to be worthy of such love and affection.”

Bilbo couldn’t speak at first. The things Thorin said, the way he spoke the words, they touched him down deep inside in a way he'd never thought he'd feel. And his voice, it still had the power to turn him into jelly with one word. But then the reality of it settled in. He pressed a chaste kiss against Thorin's lips, then cradled his love's face in his hands, watching him as he finally gathered the courage to speak.

“Yes, I love you. I think I have since you came into my house and called me a grocer.” He put a finger to Thorin's lips when the other would have spoken. “I'm not finished, Thorin. I can only speak plain, like I always have. I love you. I always will. And that said... you've gone white, love. You're hurting so you should rest. Do you need the medicine?” Suddenly Bilbo felt a little guilty. Their actions a few minutes ago might have caused part of this pain and he'd not hurt Thorin for the world.

“The only thing I need, little Hobbit, is you.” Thorin pulled him in close again as he lay down on the bed. “Stay.”

Bilbo wrapped himself up in Thorin's arms, snuggling closer. “I'd like nothing more,” he murmured as he rested his head against Thorin's heartbeat. “Good night, Thorin.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update. 
> 
> There is smut in this chapter, although not as much as y'all probably want. :)

The next several days were spent healing and relaxing. Finally everyone was feeling enough better that they began to explore. 

Bofur and Nori made their cautious way through Beorn's bee pastures to the woods on the far side, wanting privacy. They sat on a small hillock, shoulders touching, and simply stared out over the land, saying nothing. It was a comfortable silence, the kind they had been finding with each other more and more often. Finally Nori touched one of Bofur's braids and broke the silence. 

“I meant what I said,” he said simply. “I'm never letting you go. You... you mean too much to me. I've never cared about anyone but my brothers and then only because they're family, you have to care about your family. But you, I care about you so much, it scares me. It scares me because before, I could always walk away. And I can't walk away from you.” He pulled Bofur in close, holding him tightly before kissing him gently. “Don't want to anyway. So you might as well get used to the idea that I'm gonna love you forever.”

Bofur nestled into his arms, resting against him easily. That moment in their shared bedroom, the moment Nori had promised to love him, he'd thought his heart would burst with happiness. But this felt even better. “Ye know I love ye,” he said slowly. “Always will. But kin y'promise me somethin, Nori?” He felt bad asking but he had to. He was so afraid, so afraid that this quest would be the death of them both. “Please try t'be careful. I know ye like the excitement, the thrill. But I want a long, long life with ye an if we're not careful, we won't have one.”

“I promise to try if you promise not to change. You're fierce, 'fur, you're the fiercest person I know. Everything you do is strong, joking, laughing, loving – you don't do anything by half. It's why I love you, one reason anyway. You never give up.” Nori just held him then, saying nothing else.

He couldn't believe how relaxed he was in Bofur's company. He was never comfortable with others; being a thief meant he kept his distance. But he wasn't able to keep the miner at a distance, hadn't been since he'd come on Bofur that first night and decided to give him a little help. He had thought it a mere whim, a way to ease his boredom and maybe have a little fun, but it had led to so, so much more. 

Bofur straightened up slightly and reached upward, then swiveled and faced Nori. “Promise. But ye gave me somethin when ye did m'braids, an I'd like t'give ye somethin back.” He raised his hand before Nori's face and in his fingers he held his earring. “It's just a little thing but it'd make me happy t'see ye wear it.”

Nori blinked. It was all the outward reaction he gave before offering a huge smile with a slight blush. “Bofur, are you trying to court me?” 

Bofur ducked his head with a grin of his own. “I guess ye could say that. Didn't think ye'd mind at this late date.” He held up the little tooth, dangling it suggestively. 

Nori chuckled softly and moved slightly, giving Bofur a clear shot at his earlobe. “Just so we have that in the clear, then.” And once the earring was in place, he pulled his miner back in close, and they sat together companionably for a long time.

(Dwalin/Ori)

Ori went to the room he was sharing with Dwalin and closed the door firmly behind him. He was in no mood to listen to any more of Dori's well-meaning diatribes on how they were rushing things, how it was totally improper for them to be sharing a bed, how things like this were supposed to take time. 

He didn't care.

This quest was too dangerous to let things wait. Granted, they were safe enough here; but once they left the security of Beorn's land, they would be in deadly peril once more and he wasn't going to die without living.

The nights he'd already spent with Dwalin, held in the warrior's arms, had only served to make him want more. He felt so safe there, so loved. He wanted to keep feeling that; and he wanted to make Dwalin feel just as special.

So, he'd come up here directly after dinner. He had plans for his warrior tonight, and Dori wasn't going to interfere. Period.

Finally the room was arranged how he wanted it. The lanterns were lit, but they were turned low. The sheets were turned back invitingly and the fire crackled comfortingly.

When Dwalin came in, Ori was in a chair next to the fireplace, watching the flames. He rose to meet the warrior who had stopped just inside the door. “I wanted to surprise you,” he said softly.

“Aye, lad, ye did. What's all this?” Dwalin looked about the room, taking in all the homey little touches Ori had put in place. It touched him deep inside that his scribe had taken so much effort to make things comfortable.

“I was trying to make it more like a home.” Ori's words were soft. “I know it isn't. And I know our chances of actually surviving to make a home after this is over are very slim. But I wanted to see what it would be like to have one. And to give you a chance to feel it too.”

Dwalin crossed the room quickly and folded Ori into his arms, holding him tightly. He said nothing; he had no words to explain how deeply the thought affected him. Ori wanted to make a home with him. It was more than he'd hoped. Yes, he'd asked to court the lad. Yes, he'd wanted more, wanted everything from his scribe. But he'd never expected to feel this, never expected to 'come home' to his love. And he'd never really believed, until that moment, that Ori felt the same way. That Ori truly did love him and want to be with him. 

Ori raised his hands to Dwalin's face, tracing the line of the scar that ran from his brow across his nose. “I'm glad you like it,” he said softly. Then he took the warrior's hands in his own and drew him toward the bed. “I believe you mentioned that once we were healed enough, you would love me 'something fierce,' was that the term?” He gave Dwalin a smile. “I'm quite better now. And I know Oin took your stitches out earlier.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at the other questioningly. 

Dwalin said nothing, only leaned in to kiss him gently before taking hold of Ori's tunic and helping the lad out of it. The rest of Ori's clothing followed swiftly and Dwalin stopped a moment, just looking at his love. Ori was beautiful, not a spare ounce of flesh for all his life had been spent working with letters rather than weapons. Still, there was more muscle there than he had expected and it was a pleasant surprise.

Ori was quite a willing participant in his disrobing but he wasn't finished yet. He rose again, standing near enough to Dwalin that a deep breath would have their skins touching. His fingers moved slowly, teasingly, removed the warrior's clothing, making sure it ended up neatly stowed on the chair and not all over the room. Dwalin was neat and Ori would respect that. Then he took Dwalin's hand and laid back on the bed, pulling his lover with him.

Dwalin moved to lie beside him, his fingers moving restlessly over Ori's body, effortlessly finding those spots he'd noticed before, bringing soft sighs and not so soft moans from the scribe and following those fingers then with lips and teeth, soft little nips that still marked the pale skin. Then he moved back upward, still nibbling and caressing, listening to each moan and feeling each shiver that wracked his Ori. He dived in and kissed his lover passionately, his hands never ceasing their movements and then finally, finally closing around the prize.

Ori had both hands working as well; one behind Dwalin's nape, tangled in the hair there, holding him tightly while they kissed, and the other working across his chest, teasing and tangling in the crisp hair there, stroking the hard muscles and lightly scoring across nipples already pebbled with desire. He moaned into Dwalin's mouth, a long, lingering sound of need.

Dwalin pulled back slightly, watching his scribe. His own eyes closed for a moment at the sensations those strong fingers were bringing him, and then he opened them again to meet Ori's. His hand never ceased its slow, gentle stroking though he did gentle his touch, barely grazing along the sensitive skin. “Tell me what ye want, Ori,” he murmured as he nuzzled the lad's neck.

“Everything,” Ori whispered back. His own hands dipped lower, grasping Dwalin and beginning to lightly, slowly stroke him as well. He felt the warrior's breath hitch slightly and stilled his fingers. “I want to be yours in every way. I want to feel you inside me, I want to hear your voice crying out in passion and know that it's me making you feel it. I want to touch you, hold you while you make love to me. I want to smell your scent and know it's mine, I want to taste your skin and trace every one of those tattoos with my tongue. I want it all.”

Dwalin let his forehead rest against his lover's for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Of all the things Ori could have said to him, he had never expected that kind of declaration. Then he kissed his scribe again, wild, full of passion and promise as one hand scrabbled in the drawer. He drew out the vial and flipped it open, never stopping his assault on Ori's willing mouth, and dribbled it across his hand where it gripped the scribe, letting the motion slick both of them up. The fingers of his other hand dipped lower, lightly stroking that thin strip of flesh and then rubbing the oil that had dripped down around Ori's entrance, slicking it and the fingertips in the process. 

Ori made a long, low keening noise when Dwalin's finger brushed just the edge of his entrance, swallowed by the warrior's mouth against his own. He bucked upward, tearing his lips free and crying out. Broken Khuzdul flowed from him, pleas for more, gasps of need, moans of pleasure, he wasn't silent by any means and Dwalin listened carefully to all of it as he gently, carefully prepared his lover.

One finger found that spot and Ori nearly screamed, his hands scrabbling over Dwalin's back and then tangling in his hair, trying to simply hold on. Dwalin rumbled pleasantly and flicked it again, watching Ori squirm, and then withdrew his fingers, moving both hands to hold Ori's face gently and force the lad to look up at him. “Ori, love,” he murmured as he locked eyes with his scribe. “Yer beautiful. An yer mine, always. I want no one else, ever.”

Ori kissed Dwalin's fingers and then squirmed against him. “Then make us one,” he moaned raggedly. “Need you, Dwalin, need to feel you inside me.” One hand slipped down to grasp at Dwalin's hard length again. “Please! Don't tease me. Make us one.”

Dwalin needed no more urging. He moved into position and slowly, carefully eased inside his love, taking care not to rush Ori. He wanted nothing to mar this joining, so he would take his time. And once fully inside, he waited, barely breathing, until he was sure his scribe had adjusted to his size before beginning to move, slowly at first but with mounting urgency.

Ori met each thrust with one of his own, pushing back against Dwalin with every stroke, moaning and sobbing with need. Finally Dwalin grasped Ori's length with one hand, steadying his hip with the other as he continued to move, and stroked lightly but with increasing speed. 

Ori came with a ragged scream, bucking upward, both hands scrabbling for purchase against Dwalin's sweat-slicked skin, trying to hold him even closer. Dwalin followed quickly with a roar, spilling himself deep inside his love, then holding him just as tightly as he rolled them to the side to lay together. He watched the lad for a moment, stunned by the intensity of the act, before gathering his courage to speak. 

“I don't have yer gift with words,” he said slowly, “but I have t'say this. I love ye, Ori, with all m'heart. I always will. Yer m'One. An I'd marry ye right now if ye said yes.”

Ori framed his face with his fingers, smiling ecstatically. “Then yes.”

(Thorin/Bilbo)

Bilbo got between Thorin and the door. “Oh, no you don't,” he said simply as he put one hand on the startled Dwarf's chest. “Off with it, right now. If you don't, then, then I'll just have to take it off you. So take off that shirt right now.”

Thorin blinked and then gave the Hobbit a slow smile. “I hadn't realized you were so determined to have my clothes off, Bilbo,” he rumbled in amusement. “Very well.” He slipped the tunic off over his head and tossed it onto a chair. “Satisfied?”

“Quite. Now sit down and let me have a look.” Bilbo made sure the Dwarf was comfortable on the side of the bed and ran his fingers over the marks the Warg had made on Thorin's skin, humming softly to himself the whole time and apparently oblivious to the reaction he was provoking. He finally stepped back, nodding a bit. “Well, it seems you've healed quite a bit. Does it still hurt?”

Thorin had to take a deep breath to be able to answer. What was it about his Hobbit that made him shiver at the slightest touch? “Not much, no.” Swiftly he grabbed Bilbo about the waist and tumbled them both onto the bed. He straddled the burglar's hips, holding his hands against the bedspread, and kissed him deeply. 

Bilbo was trembling. This hadn't at all been what he'd had in mind – well, maybe just a little - but he wasn't objecting, either. Perish the thought. He made a little sound of protest at not being able to touch, but then he responded to the kiss, returning it passionately.

Thorin loosed the Hobbit's hands and took Bilbo's face in his own, framing it gently and watching his little one with thinly veiled desire. There was an answering gleam in the burglar's eyes, and it thrilled him to the bone. “I promised you soft sheets, a warm bed, and time, my Halfling, and we have all those things right now,” he murmured against Bilbo's throat. His hands then skimmed over the pleased Hobbit, ridding him of his clothing and caressing bare skin until Bilbo was moaning softly and hauled Thorin's head back up to kiss him desperately. 

Finally he let the Dwarf back up for air as his own hands made explorations. “Then what are you waiting for?” he growled as he nipped at Thorin's throat. “You're still dressed, Thorin,” he nearly purred. 

Thorin didn't pause in his explorations. One hand moved only long enough to remove his breeches and then returned quickly, still touching and caressing that expanse of pale, hairless skin as he kissed the startled burglar deeply, desperately. 

Bilbo was a beautiful, exotic creature, he thought as much as he could think through his desire. His skin was pale, nearly hairless save in two places. His adorable feet... and the prize Thorin now sought. One large, calloused hand wrapped around the shaft and Bilbo arched upward with a cry, pressing himself against his Dwarf and kissing him wildly as his own softer hand found Thorin's hardness as well.

Both instantly went still, eyes locked together, shock keeping them silent. Neither so much as breathed for a long moment.

Something was happening between them, something more than just need and desire. Something powerful held them in its grasp, much like they held each other, and slowly Thorin lowered his lips back to Bilbo's. It was different, now, no longer frantic, no longer fueled merely by want. There was an emotional element now, a need to please his Hobbit, not merely possess him. And he could feel, from the way Bilbo was responding to his kiss, that the burglar felt it as well.

This was miles beyond what either of them had felt before. Both had taken lovers, both had experienced the need, the driving, pulsing lust that had driven them earlier. But this, this was different, at the same time both wilder and gentler. It drove Thorin to gentle his caresses, slow them, to press his entire body against Bilbo's in an attempt to touch even more. 

Nor was the Hobbit idle. He arched against Thorin, arms around him, trying desperately to bring him closer, seemingly trying to submerge himself inside Thorin's skin. Their kisses were desperate, yet loving and passionate, giving and not taking. 

It seemed they would go no further, as if the simple fact of skin to skin contact would be enough, until Bilbo came up for air and put both his hands against Thorin's chest, not pushing but not allowing him any closer, either. He'd finally tumbled to a conclusion and he needed to share it before things went too far, before it was too late. “Thorin. Thorin, listen to me,” he began softly. 

Thorin blinked quickly, trying to focus. He'd never been so overtaken by need in his life and it was a struggle at first to comprehend his Halfling's words. His hands continued to run over Bilbo's so soft skin, but finally he was able to bring his mind back enough to listen. 

It was hardly the time for Bilbo to be delivering a lecture on Hobbits but it needed said. He'd never expected things to reach this level of intimacy so quickly. “Thorin. We have to stop. We have to talk about something first. We HAVE to.”

Thorin scowled and leaned back slightly, watching Bilbo with thinly veiled frustration and not a little anger. “And what is it that's so important, Halfling?” he demanded suddenly. “I thought you wanted this.”

“I do, that's the problem.” Bilbo ran a hand through his hair and then touched Thorin's face, though the Dwarf didn't react to the caress. “Thorin, it's – I love you. You have no idea how much, though. That's what's wrong.” He had to take a deep breath and that scowl was decidedly intimidating. “We Hobbits, when we love deeply... it forges a connection between us. It's rare, but it happens. It's a soul bond. And it's unbreakable.”

Thorin sighed deeply and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. It was taking an enormous amount of restraint to keep from simply continuing where they'd left off, but something in the Hobbit's words had reached him.

A bond. An unbreakable bond. But was that truly something he should avoid? What if Bilbo was his One? It certainly felt that way. He'd felt NOTHING like this for any other lover. He'd never felt such a depth of emotion for anyone. As much as he'd denied it, the Hobbit had been in his thoughts almost non stop since the moment they met.

He loved Bilbo. It was nearly graven on his heart, and that wouldn't change. He intended to keep Bilbo with him after this was over, if they lived through it. Slowly, deliberately, he reached over and cupped the startled Hobbit's face in his fingers, drawing him closer, kissing him gently. “I will bond with you, Bilbo,” he said softly. “I would have you with me always.”

Bilbo drew him in closer then, not desperately but close. He rained kisses on the Dwarf's face, neck, and then lower. His hands tangled into the crisp hair on Thorin's chest, stroking and teasing.

There was nothing frantic or rushed about them now. It was slow, and tender, and gentle. And when they were together, when they were one, there was a sense of completion, a sense of belonging, a sense of rightness that flooded through them.

Neither wanted to leave the other. They lay together, spent, sated, and more than content. Thorin smoothed back Bilbo's hair and the Hobbit placed a gentle hand over Thorin's heart. It beat in time with his own and Bilbo sighed contentedly as he laid his head against the Dwarf's shoulder. He didn't know much more than he'd already said about the bond; but he knew he didn't want to move from this spot, not ever. “I love you,” he murmured softly.

“And I you, my Bilbo,” Thorin murmured back as he pressed a kiss against the Hobbit's lips. “Rest now, just rest.”

They slept.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are giving me a swelled head about this story *LOL*
> 
> Enjoy this latest installment! Just a bit of moving the story along...

After a few more days, the time came for them to leave Beorn's house and continue their quest. Erebor awaited them, and Durin's Day was fast approaching. 

Beorn lent them mounts and sent them on their way, with the stern admonition that his ponies not pass into Mirkwood. Also he was quite specific that they were not to touch the water of the river, since it carried a powerful enchantment. Nothing else was said; but it was understood that the skin-changer would be most displeased with them if they ignored his wishes and so it was that at the entrance to the forest, they unburdened the beasts and took all the supplies upon themselves, leaving the animals to make their way home. Thorin looked up at Gandalf, assessing, when the wizard didn't do the same.

“You're not sending your horse away?” he demanded roughly. 

“No, I am not,” was the terse reply. “I am riding it.”

“Wait, you're not going with us?” Bilbo jumped in quickly. Thorin looked like a thundercloud and Bilbo wanted to head off his lover's temper if he could. “Why not?”

“Because I have urgent business in the South, and I've already put it off far too long bothering with you people,” Gandalf snarked back. “I will rejoin you when I am able. Remember Beorn's words, and mine, please. DO NOT stray from the path. There are dangers in this wood that you cannot comprehend, and if you leave the path for any reason, you will never find it again.” He turned away and rode a short distance before turning back to regard them. “DON'T LEAVE THE PATH!” he called again and was then gone from sight.

Thorin regarded the wizard's direction for a few more moments, his eyes narrowed angrily, before shrugging it off and letting his hand rest on Bilbo's shoulder. “Come on,” he growled, and they entered the forest.

It was black and forbidding inside; very little light managed to reach the ground through the trees. Strange creatures hissed at them from the sides of the path but were hidden by the darkness and never ventured close enough to the dim light for identification. They did see, however, black squirrels, black gophers, and other such rodentia. Everything seemed to be black in color, which made it all the more depressing. Even the dirt they trod was the color of midnight, and it was sapping their spirits.

They traveled for many days through the seemingly unending trees. Their supplies began to run low and they were all getting a bit short tempered, even Bilbo. But nothing came of it; a few spats that were quickly made up between lovers and between friends. 

Finally they came to a river across the path, and mindful of Beorn's warnings about the forest, stopped well short of it. “I can't even see the other side,” Bilbo said softly. “How do we get across if we can't touch the water?”

Fíli was staring hard at something and finally nodded slightly. “There's a boat on the other shore,” he said simply. “I think I can get it to this side if I can hook it.” 

He rummaged through the packs for a moment and came up with a grapple and a long length of rope. It only took a couple of tries for him to land it on the little craft, but when he pulled, there was enough resistance that several of the others pitched in to help pull. Finally there was a loud crack and the boat flew toward them, only stopping once it ran aground. A broken rope was found near the front and it was assumed that had been the noise they heard when it snapped.

A quick examination revealed that it was in fact quite small and would only carry a few of them at a time. The decision was made and the first group went across, then the next – but when the final group started across, Bombur managed somehow to fall out of the boat and into the water. He was retrieved quickly, and without the others sharing his fate. But the water's enchantment had worked well; no matter what they tried, Bombur wouldn't wake.

There was an uproar. Bofur and Bifur refused to leave him, which in truth hadn't been suggested. Everyone was squabbling until Thorin roared to get their attention. “We take him with us. Take turns carrying him. We move on.” 

That night, Bofur stood guard not only over the camp but over Bombur. His watch spot was near the big Dwarf, and Nori was near to both of them. Bifur remained near as well, sleeping fitfully as though alert to some danger the others didn't perceive. 

Dwalin and Ori were together, discussing some point or other of Dwarven law. Dori joined them, wanting to get to know the warrior a bit better, still uncertain of his intentions toward Ori. As the night wore on, though, he was forced to admit at least to himself that Dwalin was very shrewd; he knew points of the law that Dori did not, points that would help him once they had reclaimed their home. 

Thorin and Bilbo had withdrawn a cautious distance away, though not so far as to be in danger if something attacked. The others gave them a wide berth; everyone had noticed their behavior while at Beorn's, and they would allow the couple a bit of privacy in respect. 

It rankled Thorin a bit; he'd thought they'd been discreet. Apparently not enough, and suddenly he threw off his anger at himself. It didn't matter what the others thought, really. In fact, it might be a good thing that they knew. Bilbo would be as safe as possible on the road, now that he'd staked his claim. The others would protect him out of respect for Thorin if nothing else, though he also acknowledged that the Hobbit was quite well liked for himself alone. Yes, he would be as safe as they could make him.

“Tell me more about this bond we share,” he asked suddenly as he drew the startled Halfling closer. “I feel... odd.” That wasn't a strong enough word but it would do for now.

“I don't know much more about it than you, honestly,” Bilbo replied with a snort. “My mother tried to explain it to me, once. She said it was like finding the other half of your soul.” He shrugged eloquently. “But she never explained how it felt, what it meant. She only said that once bonded, it was unbreakable.” He turned in Thorin's arms and took the Dwarf's hand, placing it on his own chest. “But I feel you. Here. Like, like part of me I never knew I had, that just woke up.”

Thorin, in turn, placed Bilbo's hand on his own heart. “That is what I feel as well. You are here, Bilbo, a part of me now. It's... strange.” He sighed. “You should rest. We'll be moving on soon. This wretched forest can't last forever.” But he tightened his hold slightly, keeping Bilbo quite close.

Bilbo snuggled in, saying nothing. He could feel Thorin's presence through their bond, and it amazed him. The Dwarf was a steady presence, almost a second heartbeat, but not exactly. He felt the uncertainty that Thorin would never admit, even to himself, and unthinking he looked up and touched Thorin's jaw. “This isn't a mistake,” he said softly. “Don't ever think that.”

“I would never think our bond was a mistake,” Thorin replied steadily. “But this quest...” He shook his head. “It will end in fire,” he said softly. “I can feel it, as clearly as I feel you now with me. And yet I CANNOT turn aside. I cannot forgo vengeance on the dragon, I cannot allow him to claim the mountain. I MUST reclaim our home.”

Bilbo simply nodded with a sigh, obviously considering his words carefully. “No one will ask you to give up your quest,” he said slowly. “Those who have, don't understand. But we follow you, Thorin, we'll follow you to the end, even should it end badly. We follow you because we believe in you, because we love you.”

“And I am leading you to your deaths.” The words were simple, but the emotion behind them was anything but. Uncertainty had faded into dread, and Bilbo had a moment's pause. He really WAS feeling the Dwarf's emotions and the thought threw him for a moment. Was it part of the bond? It had to be. “What hope have we, fourteen against a dragon? He shrugged aside the finest warriors Erebor had to offer as though they were mere insects. We pose no threat to him.” 

“You underestimate us.” Bilbo's voice was firm, now. He knew what Thorin was feeling and his own sense of determination slid to the fore. “You forget you have a burglar with you. And that your own people are just as determined as you are to force him out of YOUR home. We will not be denied, Thorin. And you are the key to this endeavor. We didn't come on this quest for a lark. We came for you.”

“I feel – what you say, you feel. It's – incredible.” Thorin was in awe of both the bond and the Halfling's courage. He didn't know what Bilbo was thinking, but he could feel the honesty of his words. The determination he held to support Thorin's quest to the bitter end, if it came to that. “Very well. We'll continue, then. We should rest, though.”

But sleep was elusive. Each of them was starting to feel the effects of the forest. Unease, uncertainty, and a sense of dread grew in each heart over the next few days. Finally the hallucinations started. 

Bilbo kept his head longer than the others. Bombur had wakened, and they were ALL beginning to stumble along with little thought to where they were putting their feet. Finally, after listening to his companions complain about the “never ending cursed place” for so long he decided to climb a tree to see the lay of the land.

At first, he was more than a little elated. The air was clear, and there were butterflies. They entranced him for several moments, bringing a huge smile to his face and a laugh to his lips. Then he sobered and slid back down the tree. 

Right into a HUGE spiderweb. 

After a moment's shock at the sheer size of the inhabitant, Bilbo killed it. Then he slipped on his ring that he had found in the goblin tunnels and disappeared from sight.

Sounds reached him, voices, strange and fearsome, and he listened closer. The spiders were speaking, debating what to do with whatever it was they'd captured and he searched around, suddenly convinced it was his companions they were talking about. 

Was it his ring allowing him to hear them? He didn't know, and suddenly he shook himself. It didn't really matter. He had to help them. A stone came to hand and he lobbed it at the nearest one, heard it connect with a satisfying crunch.

After a brief melee Bilbo was able to free the Dwarves and they began to run, fighting their way away from the spiders but gaining no ground. It seemed hopeless, and Kíli fell behind. 

Suddenly there were Elves everywhere, the spiders were dead or fled, and a tall, blond Elf with a regal bearing was pointing his bow at Thorin. “Do not think I won't kill you, Dwarf,” he spat angrily. “It would be my pleasure.”

Bilbo's ring was on his finger before he was even aware he was going to use it, but it seemed for the best. These Elves weren't friendly, not at all like those in Rivendell. These were deadly serious. He would stay hidden until he knew their intent.

Quickly the Company was disarmed and they were taken into the halls of the Woodland Realm, Eryn Lasgalen, the Elven fortress of Thranduil deep in the heart of the forest. There, they were separated, each placed into different cells, though most within shouting distance of the others. Thorin, however, was taken before Thranduil himself to answer for their presence in Mirkwood.

There was a tense, angry exchange in which Thranduil accused Thorin of everything nasty he could. Burglary, seeking power, and even more. Bilbo tensed when he felt Thorin's rage mounting through their bond and concentrated on remaining calm. One of them had to. Then Thorin said something in Khuzdul and Bilbo groaned when he saw the expression on the Elvenking's face; it was pure fury. “Do not talk to me of dragon fire!” Thranduil spat as he leaned imposingly over the Dwarf and Bilbo watched as the Elf's face melted, showing vicious scars and damaged bone before once more becoming flawless. “I know its wrath and ruin!” 

Bilbo felt Thorin's revulsion at the sight and then his anger was again at the forefront while Thranduil continued to berate and torment him. Then Thorin was dragged away, sent to the cells with his kin, and Bilbo followed to hear him explain to Balin that there was no deal to be had. That he had insulted the Elvenking so gravely they'd never get out.

“Well, that's that then,” Balin grated out. “A deal was our only hope.”

Thorin's eyes raised, as though seeking something, but there was nothing to be seen. Nonetheless, Bilbo felt the surge of hope in the Dwarf's heart. “Not our only hope.”

Bilbo felt himself puff up a bit. He was the one Thorin spoke of, and he could feel Thorin's emotions so clearly now. Thorin knew he was nearby. He could feel the faith his lover had that he would rescue them, and it shook him. However was he to do such a thing? Then he stiffened his spine. If there was a way, he'd find it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in posting.
> 
> A little more filler, a little more character development, and a little more... well, I can't really call it fluff *LOL*

Bofur sat in his cell and brooded. 

That in itself was unusual. The typically merry Dwarf was quiet and subdued, not a quip or comment to be heard from him. He was so quiet, in fact, that Nori was concerned.

Of course the Elves couldn't put them in the same cell. They'd ALL been separated. Each had their own cell and while they were within shouting distance, most of them, what he wanted most to say wasn't for just anyone's ears. 

Nori wanted. He wanted to hold his miner, he wanted to make sure Bofur'd taken no lasting harm from that cursed forest, he wanted to just wrap up his One and hold him close, protect him from further harm. And that was what kept him silent, more than anything.

They were courting. He'd braided Bofur's hair, he'd accepted and wore Bofur's earring. Not one of their fellows would say a word against them, against their union. But he couldn't bring himself to take that last, irrevocable step and be completely open. It was just so foreign to his nature, to his life, that he couldn't do it. 

He couldn't even get out of this cell. He was a thief, a very accomplished one, and there wasn't a cell in the world that could hold him – except this one. His lockpicks, cunningly concealed and thus undiscovered by the Elves, just weren't up to the task. There was magic upon these locks, some sorcery that kept him from finally getting the door open. For each time he tried, there was a reaction.

The first was simple. The lock simply didn't open. The tumblers fell into place, he could hear them move, but nothing happened. The door remained firmly closed. 

The second time was a bit more harsh. The lock itself changed, snapping the tip off one of the tools and sending sharp splinters of wood into the fingertips he had too close to it. He cursed softly and retrieved what was left of the tool and used it to prize them out, all the while scowling and growling imprecations under his breath.

The third time? The third time hurt. It wasn't splinters this time, but a barrage of thorns that flew from the lock, shredding the knuckles on his right hand and sending him into a spate of vile language that should have made the most seasoned of warriors proud. He grumbled, removed the thorns, and then surveyed the wreckage of his tools with desperation. There wasn't enough left of them to attempt even a simple lock, much less this one. 

He wasn't going to admit defeat. He'd made his way out of the best Dwarven prisons, specifically designed to hold him, and he wasn't about to let some Elvish lock best him. But try as he might, he got nowhere, and continued to collect a myriad of downright painful injuries to his hands until he simply stopped, leaned his head against the bars, and swore many of his personal favorites. Then he simply threw himself against the door. Repeatedly.

Balin had explained this to them already. The Woodland Realm was secured by Thranduil's will, and they wouldn't get out without his leave. But Nori didn't care. He wanted out. 

Being caged was galling to him, but there was more. He couldn't stand being confined; it sent chills down his spine and panic through his veins. He could no more stop trying to escape than he could stop breathing.

Bofur heard the commotion start and scrambled to his own door. He could see Nori's cell, just barely, from where he stood, and he watched as his One thrashed and fretted. He listened as Nori's breathing grew labored and he cried out as he saw blood on Nori's hands. “Nori!” he called stridently as he reached his hand through the bars, yet unable to reach his thief. “Nori, stop!”

But nothing reached Nori. He had to get out. The thought beat at him in time with his assaults on the door. He had to get out. Other voices joined Bofur's, but he heard none of them. He had to get out.

Bofur strained to reach him but couldn't and slumped for a moment before a thought occurred to him. Nori had taken such pleasure in his tunes, his music. Could he reach his thief, calm him that way? He didn't have his flute – but he did have his voice. 

His words were soft and soothing, pitched low enough that Nori would have to settle down to hear them. He sang of peace and safety, words his mother had sung to him as a child when the darkness threatened and he was sore afraid. And he kept singing, even when Nori had quieted and settled himself at the doorway to listen, because suddenly it wasn't just his thief he was reassuring. He could feel the others drawing near also, and he kept going. He kept singing until his throat was sore, soothing the spirits of his friends as long as he could before finally falling silent.

The others remained quiet, some falling into slumber, some simply sitting in silent contemplation – but Nori remained at the door to his cell, watching Bofur with a tiny smile on his face. Bofur met his eyes, raising one brow in question, and Nori simply nodded. He was all right, now. He could see his One, could hear his voice, and knew Bofur was all right. That was enough.

For now.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My most sincere apologies for the late update. I'll try to do better. 
> 
> Y'all are fantastic, though! So glad you're enjoying this little tale... much more to come!
> 
> As always, this is for the Hive... love ye m'darlins! Y'all keep me sane!

Ori's fingers twitched. He needed ink and parchment. His journal was safe, well hidden among his clothes, which was a good thing; if it had been found, these Elves would know everything. Then again, maybe not; it was, after all written in Khuzdul, the Dwarves' own language which was kept secret. 

Still, he fretted. Nori had been utterly mad at one point, throwing himself against the bars, trying desperately to escape and failing. His hands were horribly mangled, bloody and torn, and Ori hurt just looking at them. 

And then Bofur began to sing. The miner had a talent for bringing them out of dark places, it seemed, but none so much as Nori. The thief began to settle almost immediately and Ori stared. No one had ever been able to reach Nori when he got like that, not even his brothers. That he would listen to Bofur was simply amazing.

The music was soothing, though, Ori had to admit. The lullaby was familiar, and Bofur sang it well; it began to lull him as well as the others.

Finally they were all quiet again. Ori remained next to his door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dwalin across the way. They hadn't been able to talk since they'd been imprisoned; it wasn't their way to shout things across the hall. But Ori had finally tumbled to a possibility.

Dwarves knew iglishmek, their own sign language, for times like this when verbal communication wasn't wise for whatever reason. And it had the added attractiveness of being incomprehensible to the Elves. Iglishmek was even more secret than Khuzdul. 

He tapped the bars lightly, just twice, in order to get Dwalin's attention. None of the others were in direct sight, though he could see Nori's cell clearly. Nori, however, was looking down the passageway toward where Ori could only assume Bofur was. Then all other thoughts fled when Dwalin turned his way. 

His sense of relief was huge within him. The warrior merely watched him for a moment, saying nothing, and then his hands went to the bars, simply holding while he watched the scribe. Ori let his fingers flutter a bit.

::Are you all right?::

He saw the slight widening of Dwalin's eyes and then the gleam of approval as he signed as well. ::Well enough. Are you hurt?:: 

::No. But I'm afraid.:: It cost Ori nothing to admit it, and it might give Dwalin something to focus on other than their captivity. ::I'm afraid we'll never get out.:: So much he wanted to say, and still wasn't sure he could. Others would read the iglishmek, if they looked. How was he to say he was afraid that they'd never be together again? That he'd never feel those strong arms hold him and make him feel safe?

::We'll find a way.:: Dwalin gave him a scorching look. He knew what Ori was thinking; he'd thought the same. To never feel his scribe in his arms was unthinkable. There had to be a way out, and Thorin was entirely too calm for there to be no hope. ::Thorin knows something. He's quiet.::

Ori nodded. He'd heard nothing from their King since he'd been brought in, not after he and Balin had spoken. If Thorin was calm, did that mean all wasn't lost? But he was more worried about Dwalin, to be honest. It had to be enormously infuriating for him to be confined, and suddenly Ori thought he might understand Nori a bit better as well. If it was hard for him to be held, how much more so for the others who were used to being active? ::How do you stand it?::

::Not easy.:: Dwalin's face was hard. ::But I can manage. Thorin knows something.:: He repeated the signs, hoping Ori would understand. As long as Thorin was calm, there was hope. ::Don't give up, lad. We'll get out of here.::

Before Ori could respond, Kíli's voice rose in the stillness. He was trading words with the guard captain, Tauriel. They spoke of Kíli's runestone, of the festival going on above them, the Feast of Starlight. Then all was silent again for a time while Tauriel went on her rounds, leaving them alone in captivity.

Finally Bofur spoke, his voice filled with weary resignation. “I'll wager the sun is on the rise. It must be nearly dawn.” 

Ori couldn't resist answering him. All his disquiet, his fear, his despair was in his words. “We're never going to reach the mountain, are we?”

There was silence for a long moment as the others contemplated what to answer, and then an unexpected voice sounded from the end of the corridor and there was the clanking of keys. “Not stuck in here you're not.”

There was a babble of sound as Thorin threw himself forward to wrap his hands around the bars. Bilbo started working the keys. “Quiet!” he hissed. “There are guards nearby!” A searing look passed between Thorin and the Hobbit before Bilbo began freeing the others. 

Bilbo led them downward, into the very basements of the palace. Kíli snarled about being in the cellars and Bofur was equally angry. “You're supposed to be leading us out, not further in!” he snapped quietly. 

“I know what I'm doing!” Bilbo replied only to be shushed by the miner. He rolled his eyes as the Dwarves moved further into the room, examining the barrels that lay waiting to be returned to Esgaroth. “Into the barrels!” he urged them. 

“Are you mad?” Dwalin spat. “They'll find us!”

“No, no, they won't, I promise you, please, you MUST trust me!” Bilbo urged. But it was Thorin who made the final decision, again feeling what his burglar felt and knowing the certainty Bilbo held. 

“Do as he says,” he hissed as he dropped down beside them. He had known Bilbo was alive, had known the Hobbit was free, thanks to their bond. He had felt the Halfling's determination, had felt his elation when his plan began to form. It had kept him sane and halfway calm, which had calmed his company, and for that he was extremely grateful, and would tell his Bilbo that as soon as he could. 

There was a mad scramble as everyone fitted themselves into the barrels and then thirteen heads popped out, regarding the little Hobbit with some concern. “What now?” Bofur demanded.

Bilbo took a deep breath of his own. “Hold your breath.” And as the others muttered and gasped, he drew back the lever that would drop the barrels into the river below.

They disappeared and the floor ramp sealed itself again. Bilbo was quite satisfied with himself until he realized he was still inside the palace – with no apparent way out. He could hear the jailor stirring behind him, could hear Tauriel approaching, and started to panic. Confidence flowed to him through his bond with Thorin and it calmed him, settled him just enough that he slipped backward on the ramp enough for it to be triggered and slide him backward until he dropped into the water below. 

Nori grabbed him and pulled him close to his barrel while Thorin looked on. “Well done, Master Baggins,” Thorin said simply as he gestured outward. “Move! Come on, let's go!”

They were hoping to get well down the river before the escape was discovered, but it wasn't to be. An alarm was sounded and it looked like they would be trapped against a gate across the very river, a gate defended by fierce Elves.

The barrels bumped to a halt under the bridge against the gate and Thorin roared in frustration. Bilbo clung to Nori's barrel, and all the Dwarves were readying themselves for a losing battle when Orcs began to pour over the borders, engaging the Elves and drawing their attention.

The Orcs weren't helping them, however. They began to kill indiscriminately and Kíli suddenly saw an opening. He leaped from his barrel, dodging combatants, and headed for the lever that opened the gate.

He fought well, cutting his way through the Orcs with a stolen blade, and nearly made it. He was almost within reach when an arrow from the Orc leader's bow pierced his leg, just above the knee. He had his hand on the lever, but couldn't pull it and fell.

Fíli's voice rose above the cacophony of battle, calling desperately for his brother. Thorin's was barely a breath behind. 

Kíli lay still for a moment, stifling his cries of pain, and then raised his head when more Orcs approached. It seemed they would overwhelm him, but suddenly Tauriel was there, shooting and hacking and protecting him. 

She went about her killing with deadly grace and no more Orcs came near him. Kíli forced himself upward with a strangled snarl of pain and finally was able to move the lever.

The gates came open and the Dwarves were free once more to move down the river. Kíli managed to get himself to the edge and drop down into the empty barrel, snapping the shaft of the arrow off close to the skin. A groan was forced from him and then they were again speeding down the water, desperately trying to fight free, and Tauriel and the blond elf were following, cleaving through the Orcs as they went.

They lost sight of the Elves after a time, though it had been a close battle. The Orcs had been outrun. Kíli hoped for a bare moment that Tauriel had outrun them as well; but the last sight of her and her companion had been in the thick of battle with them and then he had no more thought to spare for her.

Pain speared through him with every breath. His leg was ruined, he could feel it, but he would go on. Thorin expected it of him, after all, and he would have Fíli beside him to help. Always he had his brother. 

Finally the barrels came to a calm spot in the river and they made for the bank. Stony beach met them, and they all clambered out carefully, bruised and battered but free. Kíli immediately went down again and looked up to see Bofur regarding him with gentle concern. “I'm fine,” he growled as he pressed a rag against the wound, applying pressure and stifling the snarl of pain. 

Immediately Fíli was by his side. Thorin was trying to get them moving and he shook his head. “Kíli's wounded. His leg needs binding.”

“There's an Orc pack on our trail. We keep moving.” Thorin was watching around them carefully, his head swiveling, pacing impatiently, and Bilbo picked up on his distress. There seemed to be much more than simple fear of the Orcs, but he couldn't place the feeling. Oh, and of course he was afraid for Kíli but he would say nothing of it. It wasn't his way. 

There was some discussion of what to do next and finally it was decided they would take a few short moments to bind up Kíli's leg and Ori stole down to the water to drain his boots, Dwalin close behind. For the moment, Thorin was safe, and Dwalin would protect his One.

A shadow stole over them and Ori looked up, concerned, to find a Man looming over them with raised bow. Dwalin leapt to his feet, getting between them, and an arrow thudded home in the branch he'd grabbed to wield. Another lightning-fast shot knocked the stone from Kíli's hand before he could throw. “Do it again, and you're dead,” the Man growled.

Balin began to speak, using his gift with words to calm the situation and try to find them some help. The bargeman simply ran a hand over one of the barrels with a sardonic expression. “I know where these barrels came from,” he said slowly.

“What of it?” Thorin demanded. Bilbo wanted to roll his eyes at the distrust he could feel pulsing from the Dwarf but he controlled the impulse and concentrated on thinking soothing thoughts to calm himself... and perhaps by extension Thorin.

“I don't know what business you had with the Elves,” the bargeman began slowly with a curious expression that turned quickly to a half smirk, which also faded to a grim expression. “But I don't think it ended well.” A brief pause. “No one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil.” He was beginning to cast off, untying the lines holding the craft steady.

Balin glanced to Thorin who gave him a quick nod. “I'll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen.”

The bargeman gave a tiny smile as he moved his weapons to the fore of the boat. Perhaps he would be able to feed his family after all. “Aye,” he said simply. “But for that, you would need a smuggler.”

Balin was suddenly right next to him as he turned his head. “And for that, we would pay. Double.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an Elven interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be the beginning of my somewhat divergence from movie canon. There will be elements of both movie and book verse here... as well as some completely AU elements. Nothing blatant in this chapter, except for one tiny part that I'll explain in notes at the end. Enjoy!

NINETEEN

To say there was tension in Thranduil's posture would be an understatement. Legolas held his blade at the captured Orc's throat as Thranduil paced around and Tauriel looked on. “Such is the nature of evil. Out there in the vast ignorance of the world it festers and spreads, a shadow that grows in the dark. A sleepless malice as black as the oncoming wall of night. So it ever was; so will it always be. In time, all foul things come forth.” Thranduil's words seemed to hang in the air for a moment.

Legolas spoke, his own voice sharp. “You were tracking a company of thirteen Dwarves. Why?”

The Orc grunted a laugh. “Not thirteen, not any more. The young one, the black haired archer, we stuck him with a poisoned shaft.” Tauriel's face became taught with concern as it continued, sick humor in its voice. “The poison's in his blood. He'll be choking on it soon.”

Her eyes narrowed. Kíli had been poisoned! Her friend was in danger. “Answer the question, filth,” she snapped. It spat a stream of Orcish at her and she tightened her grip on her knife as Legolas shoved it back down, pressing his own blade even closer.

“I would not antagonize her,” Legolas growled. Tauriel shifted suddenly.

“You like killing things, Orc?” she snarled. “You like death? Then let me give it to you!” She made a sudden lunge forward, knife in hand, but Thranduil's voice stopped her just short of the mark.

_“Farn! Tauriel, ego! Gwao hi.”_ She said nothing in return, simply acknowledging his order to leave by stalking out of the room. If he wanted her to leave, then leave she would. There was something more here, something she was missing. Surely this was a sign of a greater evil, something that should be addressed. To remain secure in their own borders while the rest of the world burned was unthinkable to her. She remained near enough to hear and yet out of sight of her king.

Thranduil watched her out of sight and turned his attention back to the Orc. “I do not care about one dead Dwarf. Answer the question. You have nothing to fear. Tell us what you know and I will set you free.”

Legolas hid a wince at the disdain in his father's voice when he spoke of the Dwarf and instead bent the Orc's head back just a touch further. “You had orders to kill them. Why? What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?” he hissed angrily. And he couldn't allow himself to dwell on Tauriel's anger right now; this was more important, though he would seek her out as soon as they were finished here. There was more to it than just a simple Orc sullying Thranduil's domain, much more. Again he drew his attention back.

Again the thing snorted laughter. “The Dwarf runt will never be king.”

“King? There is no king under the mountain nor will there ever be.” What madness was this? Legolas tightened his grip yet again. “None would dare enter Erebor while the dragon lives.”

This time the laughter was wicked, as though nothing could touch the thing. “You know nothing!” it spat, suddenly serious. “Your world will burn!”

“What are you talking about?” Legolas demanded with a snarl. “Speak!”

“Our time has come again,” it spoke clearly, as though to a simple child. “My master serves the One. Do you understand now, Elfling? Death is upon you. The flames of war are upon you -”

There was a flurry of movement and the Orc's head remained in Legolas' hand as the rest of it slumped to the floor. Thranduil stood steady, sword in hand, while Legolas stared at him in consternation. “Why did you do that?” he growled. “You promised to set him free.”

Thranduil regarded the body coolly. “And I did. I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders.” He stomped on the still twitching leg to still it.

Legolas again hid a start of dismay. Why had his father done such a thing? It reeked of dishonor and yet there must be more to this. “There was more it could have told us.”

“There is nothing more it could tell me.” Thranduil turned to walk away, sheathing his sword in the process. 

“What did it mean by 'the flames of war?'” Legolas questioned, determined to have answers. His father knew something more than he was telling, he was sure of it, and it was extremely ominous. 

Thranduil barely paused. “It means they intend to unleash a weapon so great it will destroy all before it.” He barely turned, addressing the guards. “I want the watch doubled at all our borders. All roads, all rivers. Nothing moves but I hear of it. No one enters this kingdom and no one leaves it.”

Legolas acknowledged the order as well, his thoughts in disarray. Something sinister was at work here, he could feel it. His father's behavior was beyond odd, to say the least. Perhaps Tauriel could explain it to him.

He went to the gate and relayed Thranduil's instructions, only to be told Tauriel was outside. If they closed the gates, she would remain there until they were ordered open again, which could be a long time if Thranduil's mood was any indication. 

He took in the direction the guard indicated and started walking. He needed to talk to Tauriel badly, and he was hoping they wouldn't deny him entrance on his return. If they did...

Enough. He would find Tauriel and try to unravel this madness and then worry about the result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the liberty of changing the "Morgul shaft" from the movie to a poisoned one. Made more sense to me, in that Morgul weapons were designed not to kill, but to enslave. Anyone wanting to discuss this further is welcome to comment or email. Another chapter in the works now! Thank you for reading!


End file.
